Rewind
by Seinde
Summary: Hermione holds a Time-Turner in her hands; where and when it will take her, she is unsure. But she knows she will always go to the presence of one man and so she turns the dial without hesitation. A different type of Time-Turner romance. SSHG
1. Prologue

Notes: a time turner fic in the style of The Time Traveler's Wife, but a little less convoluted. This more of less completely fits into the cannon universe. Not a fan of AU-where's the challenge in that?

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**Rewind**

_by seinde_

**Prologue**

**.  
**

Hermione was gone.

Gone, disappeared, missing, whatever you call it when someone clears away their entire life and vanishes.

No one knew what had made her leave, but there was no doubt that they would not expect her back. All of the possessions in her flat had been donated to charity and all her bank accounts closed. She turned in her notice at work unexpectedly and disconnected her fireplace from the Floo network the very next morning. There were no tearful goodbyes, no apologies. There was not a trace of her to be found anywhere. It was as if this "Hermione Granger" simply did not exist.

All that was left was a small book wedged in the crack of stone between the stones of her fireplace. In her careful planning and hasty departure, it had slipped her mind. And so as all things ironic go, it would be this very book which spelled the undoing of her flawless plan.

No one could understand why a woman of twenty-five would suddenly vanish as she had, just as she meant for it to be. After all, no one can begin to look for you if they did not know why you'd left. Apparation only took you so far so her closest friends could only search all trains and buses for any record of her having traveled, but to their dismay, none were to be found. Harry Potter suggested the theory that she had traveled by broom, but that was quickly turned down for the absurdity of Hermione ever being on a broom.

Then again, perhaps it was possible, given the absurdity of the situation itself.

It was a fair afternoon when Ronald Weasley ran his hands over the mantle and unearthed the little book. It was just an ordinary book, void of spells and charms. His heart swam in his chest when he saw Hermione's neat and slanted writing. He missed her terribly.

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_I hate diaries. I hate the very idea, but I have encountered something which will suffocate me if I do not pass it onto the calm of parchment. It made me obsess with such a strong compulsion that I cannot ignore it for even a second._

_I shook a pair of beautiful hands today._

_They were large and clumsy with a certain charm to the squarely jointed with rounded flat fingertips. These hands had fingers too long, but moved with a collective grace that excused them. Hands of an artist, my grandmother would have said perhaps. He motioned with them in such a way that there was always a rigidity between his fingers. I could not help but follow this pair of hands with my eyes."_

.

Hermione's writing was frenzied, much like the way she had felt when she wrote the words. Perhaps she was writing of _his_ hands. Ron immediately held up his hand and studied his fingers. He could call them the hands of an artist-provided that "artist" meant someone who did not have square joints and flat fingertips.

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_"They were of paradoxical beauty, much like the man they belonged to. _

_It is fascinating how easily influence a person can be. I always thought myself as a strong person of solid conviction, but upon shaking hands with this man, all that I ever knew suddenly paled to sepia shades in comparison to the world which I glimpsed through him._

_He called me by a name which I did not recognize, but told me he'd known me all his life. Apparently we are quite familiar, which shocked me greatly since we were never on any terms at all. What he told me was completely absurd. _

_It is as if everything is drawing around this singular source of melancholy and indescribable truth without warning. I cannot stop thinking about him. Everything is different now."_

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Ronald Weasley slammed the book against the wall.

The small book's paper spine could not take the crushing pressure of impact and the cover hinge tore. Ron slumped against the wall of Hermione's vacant room and allowed himself to slide to the floor. He glanced at the damaged little book and felt his blood boil. How dare she be with another man? This was what he had feared. She had left him for someone else. Granted, they weren't officially together, but the betrayal still felt the same. He sat on the floor fuming for a few moments before he crawled forward to retrieve the book.

Perhaps there was a better explanation, he had only read the first bit after all. He smoothed the broken part of the book and opened it again, searching the pages for a date in hopes that this was extremely dated. To his dismay, there was not a single page with any sort of time stamp. It was all unanchored and floating in time.

Now that the book was back in his hands, Ron could not help but read ahead. Maybe there were some clues. He flipped past a few pages and stopped.

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"_I've seen him again, many times actually._

_I cannot explain it. He was young, and then old, joyful one moment then suddenly furious the next. It is as though I kept walking into the middle of a conversation. When I spoke to him today, he told me that life was just one joy after another taken away. That is such a terrible attitude to have. He really believes that we are born with a steady state of happiness which gradually degrades over time. Believe it! And not to mention his stance on school. _

_Apparently everything we learn from school was absolutely trivial because it disclosed none of the beauty that was in magic. I told him that beauty lies in desire and that it could not be taught. He told me I thought that way because no one taught it to me._

_His presence is difficult to describe. It is frustrating, calming, beautiful, and heartbreaking. If you did not know him, he would be so easy to describe. Dark, acerbic, frightening. For the longest time that is what I thought too, but the way I know him now, he is so odd, so strange, but yet so certain in his translation of truth."_

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Ron was growing impatient. When did Hermione start making so little sense? He was really beginning to think that working in the Department of Mysteries had rattled her mind. Ever logical and rational Hermione was speaking about utter nonsense. He didn't care for any of this poetic drivel that was being spouted on the page. All he wanted to know was who this was. He didn't care how deeply and intellectually touched she was by the bloke.

With a flurry, he flipped forward toward the end of the book and stopped at a random page.

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_"We went to visit my grandmother's garden today. She just recently passed away and I meant to keep some of her flowers before I sold the place but didn't remember in time."_

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Here was something useful at last! A time frame! Ron racked his brains for when Hermione's grandmother died, but found that he could not remember. It was in the past year, he was sure, but he could not recall the exact date. She hadn't been terribly sad about it, something about it being better anyway. Disappointed in himself, he read on.

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"_I didn't think he would accompany me when I asked. How does a man who shows no kindness agree because anyone asked kindly?"_

_What surprised me more was that he allowed me to take his picture. He resisted at first, of course. He turned his face and waved me away every time I tried. He said he took terrible photographs and that it was better for the world and small children if he was never to be seen, but I told him it was only a Muggle camera and that nothing but a shadowy still would be recorded and he made no move to cover his face..."_

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Exasperated, Ron flipped some more pages. He stopped on the last one when he saw a name, the first name he'd read yet.

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"_Oh, Ron and Harry would to be so tickled by the irony of this. But it is just the way the coin fell. _

_Some of us were meant to live in this day, some of us not._

_Everything I see around me is worth so little to me. It is all so inconsequential and futile. Only when I speak to him does the detachment go away. My mind is clearest then and I can smile at the beauty of the world. Life suddenly becomes meaningful when it comes through him. And for that, I love him. I Love Him as Orpheus loved Eurydice. I have thought about this for weeks now, and it has finally become clear to me. _

_This was never a choice because I already made the decision before the question was asked. Time is so perfectly circular and we were, we are, we always have been. I loved him before I ever knew him, because our story plays out again and again. I cannot let him be lost so easily._

_I must go back right before everything ended. _

_I must save Severus."  
_  
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Ron reread the page again and again. Severus? He knew only one wizard by the name of Severus. It was beyond his comprehension; the man was despicable and rotten and hideous, and worst of all, much too old. He simply could not fathom what had happened. It couldn't have been, maybe it was another Severus. No, he was just trying to make himself feel better. Severus Snape...it tasted bitter like saw-dust to concede that he'd lost to that greasy and downright unpleasant bastard.

There were just too many things that did not make sense. It infuriated Ron that he had not seen what was happening. She had been abusing her privileges from the ministry, travelling through time unregistered. How did he not suspect? It seemed obvious now, the way she had always been fatigued-the way she seemed to change much faster than anyone else. Completely gone mad this time. Snape! He knew that he would have to read the entire book in detail if he were to help her. He was not looking forward to all the disgusting details of their little affair. It sickened him just to think about.

But he didn't need to read anymore to know precisely where Hermione had gone.

She was absolutely out of her mind to go back in time permanently to the war. Why, she could be killed. 1998 was not exactly a friendly time for anyone. And so he decided that it was up to him to bring her back. Plus, the world was not exactly missing Severus Snape.

Ron stood up and stretched the stiffness in his knees. He placed the book in his robe pocket and headed for home.


	2. Perfect Symmetry

**Chapter 1 – Perfect Symmetry**

**.**

Skies were grey on the afternoon Ron began to read the little book in earnest.

Sitting before his fireplace, he mused about the appropriateness that her description of her day matched the one outside his window. His heart pounded against his chest as he flipped through the pages with trembling hands. Most of him was dying to know the peculiar story here, but a small part of his mind was deathly afraid of the account he was about to uncover. That dreadful part was slowly elbowing its way to the forefront of his thoughts.

It tauntingly whispered to him that this book was a confession that she did not love him and never had.

Hermione's verbose and poetic prose certainly did not make it easier. He'd never been a fan of her writing, especially when it became more and more difficult to copy her essays. But he would struggle to stay focused because he would be damned if he let some flowery words get in his way of the truth.

Running a hand through his bright orange hair, he readied himself and began to read from page one.

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"_I shook a pair of beautiful hands today..."_

_._

1985: Severus is 25.

Severus Snape woke up with a terrible hangover. That last bottle of Merlot with Ellsworth Selwyn was undoubtedly a poor decision on his part, but he'd always loved conversing the night away and getting drunk on wine. Some of his best ideas came from bottles of wine. Confusing Concoction—a fine bottle of Chianti, Jobberknoll Draught—Seyval Blanc, Langlock—something so awful and cheap he could not even remember.

The wizard threw on his robes and shuffled to the bathroom in a hurry to make himself halfway presentable. He needed to go to the Apothecary's today; in truth there really wasn't a day when he didn't need to go. But today was a special day.

_She_ was coming.

It'd been a while since she visited, almost half a year. Their last encounter had been a terrible disaster and he'd hoped to repair some of the damage. The obnoxious clock by his door noted that he was late with a shriek as it pointed to 'why are you still here?'

Grabbing his cloak and wand, he began the long walk to the edge of Hogwarts grounds. Rain was pouring mercilessly as if someone had decided to overturn buckets of water from up high. To his surprise, the rain at the Apothecary's was starting to subside as he approached the little shop. He'd always had the suspicion that Hogwarts had some sort of magic tangled into its weather.

He vanished his umbrella charm as he opened the door in one swift motion.

The squirrelly store owner raised his head at the creaking sound of a customer and stopped his fidgeting hands. The old man was short and frail with paper thin skin stretching too thinly over his bald egg-shaped head. His goofy grin displayed his too crowded teeth as he placed bony fingers on the glass counter.

"What can I do for you today, Professor Snape?" the rickety old man hackled.

Severus handed him a piece of parchment and did not speak. His eyes swept around the shop. She was not here and perhaps would not appear until much later in the day. He hoped the old man would hurry up so he could be at a more convenient location when she did come. To his displeasure, she appeared directly behind him just then, a flurry of brown hair and black robes.

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Hermione Granger had always been fascinated by the concept of time. It was so shapeless and so unimaginably rational. What was will always be, and what will be hinged on what was. The very idea of it excited Hermione back to her schoolgirl bookish giddiness. That joy, however, was incomprehensibly eclipsed by her excitement when the Department of Mysteries made the long range time turner development project hers.

She had fallen into a sort of detachment when her appeal for the disenfranchised magical creatures was successful and she found herself idle. Ron had suggested that they get married and she care for the house. A housewife! Imagine! Insulted, she promptly broke it off, much to the disappointment of Mrs. Weasley who had the gall to still send her a bright pink sweater with 'R+H' in a heart that Christmas.

With a 'thanks, but no thanks' she sent it back angrily.

So it was with great relief that Hermione concentrated on her work to block out all of the "take-Ron-back" owls. All the clocks in the Time Room had bothered her at first, but she grew to seek comfort in their orderly ticking. After half a year of research and failures, she finally had a small golden glass contraption which she was sure worked.

In theory, it could take back years and pulled you to the present when you hit the release key. She sat at her desk in the time room and held the small pendant in her hand. Should she try it? She'd be dreading the test jump for weeks, but who was going to try if not her?

April 3rd, 1987 was her destination, a sunny and beautiful day with no especially noteworthy Daily Prophet articles—a mundane sort of day.

"Sanders!" she called over to the old man sitting two desks before her.

"I've already sent that memo of yours!" he replied, not even bothering to turn around.

"No, no. This isn't about the memo. I'm going to test out this long range time turner and need a witness," she shouted back.

Quicker than lightning, the bent old wizard was by her desk staring curiously at her hands. "Surely you aren't. We should send a mouse or a cat first."

"No, I'm positive it's done," Hermione insisted, "Plus, animals are hardly reliable. Bound to get captured or worse, eaten."

The man stroked his beard in thought, back becoming more hunched than ever.

"Perhaps," he said, sounding skeptical.

Anxiously fingering the golden instrument, she prepared to turn the dial.

"Wait wait!" the old wizard shrilled. The lines in his face deepened with his frown. "You best be sure. If you splinch yourself, I'm going to be up to my ears in paperwork. Look through your charts again."

Hermione sprang open the top drawer of her desk. She dug out a folder bursting with parchment and thumbed through the charts and calculations, checking them for the hundredth time. Even though she knew she would find no errors in her notes, she reread them to get the old man off her back.

"Oh, let me see!" he said forcefully and dragged the parchment across her desk. Bending his curved spine down ever further so his crooked nose was almost touching the pages, he inspected the charts and equations occasionally making 'hmms' and sighs.

Growing impatient, Hermione pulled back the pile roughly and said, "Stop pretending you can understand. You're just a secretary."

"_Senior_ secretary!" he corrected.

"Yes yes," she waved her hand at him in annoyance.

Smiling with mixed emotions of fear, happiness, and anticipation, she threw the chain around her neck and turned the dial to the exact grove of 0403087. The center glass piece spun and the concerned voice of Mr. Sanders faded away. Hermione thought she smelled something like rosemary. Suddenly, the ground felt incredibly stiff beneath her feet and it was as if she was falling into it, crashing downwards into solid matter.

Wherever the time turner had taken her, it was dark and smelled of dried herbs and something she couldn't quite place. The sudden flood of information from her senses made her dizzy and she felt herself falling backwards. She was sure that she would hit the hard ground and braced herself for the pain of it with closed eyes.

It never came. All she felt were steady arms raising her back up. Hermione looked up to see who had helped her and was met with dark eyes and sharp features. Her eyes widened in recognition of the greasy black hair and hooked nose and she shrunk away, muttering apologies with eyes glued to the floor. She didn't dare look at him, out of instinctive respect.

"I am terribly sorry, Pro...Professor Snape," she spoke timidly.

"What is the matter with you, Madge?"

Hermione stole a glance at him and quickly averted her eyes again. She muttered a few more apologies and began to head nervously for the door. The man grabbed her arm to pull her back and she jumped out of his grasp in surprise. He narrowed his eyes and studied her reaction.

"Your order is complete, Professor Snape. Oh madam, what can I do for you today?" the old man said as he placed a package on the counter.

"She won't be needing anything," Severus said coldly as he gave the store owner his gold and pulled a bewildered Hermione out of the shop. To their luck, the rain had stopped.

Outside, he pulled her by the wall and scanned her frightened face carefully. His black robes moved with him in a way which spoke of his slim grace.

"Have you been hexed?" His voice was menacing to her ears.

Hermione stood stiffly against the wall and stammered, "No—of course not—Sir. Professor Snape, Sir."

"What is buried on Penton Hook Island?"

Still reeling from the travel, she could not think of any reply. Suddenly seeing the man before her scared her out of her wits and reduced her to nothing but a babbling teenager. All she could see in her mind was the terror in his eyes as he died drowning in his own blood.

"I..."

Severus rolled his eyes and swore under his breath. So this was the day.

"Have we met?" Severus spoke slow and calm, but she could sense the irritation in his voice.

She wasn't sure how to reply.

"Ye—" she started, but quickly corrected herself, "but— no. I mean—perhaps yes?"

He rolled his eyes at her and loomed over her even more.

The young witch averted her gaze to survey her surroundings, figuring a way to escape. Things were most definitely not sunny and bright like April 3rd, 1987. The day was severely overcast and the stone paved street was wet with fresh rain. They were in some commercial alley, but none she recognized.

The dark haired wizard placed a hand on the wall beside her and stared into a brick in thought. She permitted herself a glance at him. His eyes were just as dark and severe as she's always known, but he was much younger than the Severus Snape she remembered, with no lines etched into his face. His hair was longer and his movements less fluid and deliberate than she recalled. Why should she be afraid of him? As far as he was concerned, they were peers, equals.

"Bloody hell, just what I need today."

Hermione jumped at his sudden comment and instinctively placed a hand on her chest to calm herself. Making a mental note to stop acting like a moron, she steadied her voice and asked, "What is the date, sir? If you don't mind me asking—"

"May 24, 1985. We are in Stochastic Alley at the Apothecary's. It is about ten in the morning," he replied out of habit.

Nodding at the detailed information, Hermione processed the implications. He told her way more than she had asked, which was puzzling, but that was a thought that could wait. The only thing on her mind was that her time turner had worked marvelously. It had not sent her to the correct date, but it had worked nonetheless! With the experiment complete, she looked forward to meticulously recording her data and adjusting her model equations.

"Thank you so much, sir, you don't know what this means for me," She pulled the time turner from beneath her robes and pressed the key at the bottom which would take her back.

Severus put a hand to his temple to rub away the headache he was still nursing. This was going to be a long day. From what she told him of their first encounter, she was quite—difficult with him. He sighed and said dismissively, "Try all you like, that isn't going to take you anywhere. Seeing as we have not met, I suppose I shall try and explain it to you."

He pulled her by the arm and led her down the busy street. Frowning, Hermione jerked her arm back. She tried the key once more and nothing happened. This meant that she was stuck in 1985. A look of horror came across her face and her body refused to move. As if adding insult to injury, it had begun to rain again. Her companion muttered an umbrella charm and turned to her.

"Oh for Merlin's sake, have your feet also become nonfunctional like your head?" Severus reached for her hand to pull her under the protective spell.

"Stop! Stop pulling me around like I'm some sort of dullard!" she shouted as she raised her wand to him. The dark haired wizard made no move to counter her threat or reassure her. Tension filled the air and she instinctively felt the need to run. He narrowed his eyes, which Hermione irrationally took as a signal to go.

After retreating a few steps backwards out of his reach, Hermione turned and ran blindly in the rain, shoes bumping against the occasional uneven cobblestone. The raindrops were getting in her eyes and she raised a hand to block them. Somewhere in her head she wondered why she was running. Snape was an honorable man who gave everything to fight against Voldemort. She rationalized it as being a bit of self-preservation; one shouldn't get too involved into the past, might just make some undesirable and dangerous changes to the present. Before she could take another step, she felt an arm around her waist pull her back. She collapsed backward against him, lungs skipping a breath.

"Stop being so insufferable! You know why you can trust me? Because anyone else will think you completely mad. The only reason why I am not sending you straight to St. Mungo's is that I've had the misfortune of actually knowing you," he shouted above the rain. Then he let her go and moved the invisible umbrella to cover them both. It wasn't quite big enough and rain was getting on his shoulders.

The witch looked at him, confused. Her curly hair was matted against her face, giving her a rather homeless look.

"What do you mean you know me?"

"If you would stop being such a dunce, I can explain it to you once we get out of this rain."

She frowned at his biting words but could only follow him silently as he pulled her toward a little cafe on the street corner. Her curiosity was simply too great.

Inside the shop, Severus dried them both with a wave of his wand. Much to Hermione's annoyance, the charm made her hair bushier and messier than usual. They sat down at a small corner table away from any accidental eavesdropping ears. A plump and cheery woman with dark messy hair came to their table to take their orders. The woman pulled a quill out of her apron pocket and asked brightly, "Now what can I get ya' today?"

"A cup of black coffee, please."

Scribbling, the woman wrinkled her face into a bigger smile, her heavy makeup cracking slightly, as she turned to Hermione. Hermione repressed a disgusted expression which Severus made no effort to do. The woman's smiling eyes sealed into curved lines and Hermione forced an uncomfortable smile back.

"Just some earl grey, thank you."

"How would you like that, dear?"

"Oh. Just one sugar. Please."

Hermione's eyes followed the woman as she walked away into the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight, the bushy-haired witch turned back to Severus.

"I must apologize for my behavior. It was extremely impolite of me. But you must understand, I'm in a very delicate position. Any little misstep could—"

"How courteous of you," he interrupted sarcastically.

Swallowing a quip about his rudeness, she extended a hand and Severus stared at her blandly for several moments before shaking it. His grip was strong and Hermione couldn't help but strengthen her hand against his.

She paused to think introductions. It would not do to give her real name. What had he called her? Madge? Short for Magdalene she supposed, "I am—Magdalene—" she said the first name which popped into her head, "Sanders."

"And I'm Arsenius Jigger." The reply was in the same mocking tone as his previous ones.

"That is most certainly not your name!"

"Well, since you know what it is already, we won't need to be redundant, will we?"

Hermione's brown eyes flashed in response to his snide retort. She tried to go on by saying, "I am a researcher—"

"And you work for the Department of Mysteries currently," he cut her off, "but you won't for long. You are here because you were using an—immature—time turner. Your middle name is Jean. You have a secret yearning for cauldron cakes even though they give you terrible bloat. You dislike the idea of house-elves greatly, and your wand core is dragon heartstring. You see, Madge, you don't need to babble to me about your life, because I do not care for a repeat performance."

Hermione's eyes widened at this.

"How do you know those things?"

"A little invisible bird is sitting on my shoulder and whispering it all into my ear as we speak," he said dismissively, "Clearly I have met you already. What did you think? I didn't believe you to be so dim." His headache was getting worse by the minute. It hadn't occurred to him earlier that this would be so trying on his patience. Mentally berating himself, he took a breath and tried to keep his sarcasm inside. This was not the Madge who knew him, not the Madge who welcomed his little remarks.

"That makes no sense. While my calculations used to calibrate this time turner may not be completely accurate, they are certainly not erroneous to that degree! I see no reason why I would make so many trips with it," Hermione said indignantly.

Severus gave her a withering look. "Do spare me the details of your esoteric research, brilliant one. And don't make any assumptions about yourself. You just might be disappointed."

Impossible as always, she thought to herself. "Then when did you and I first meet?"

"In 1971, when I was ten."

"1971? I can travel that far back? Or rather, I will travel back—but the time turner does not reach that far, the supremum on the model function I used set the limit at 1980. Oh, please do tell me more, Prof—Severus." The name tasted funny to her. Her compounding irritation with him was pushed aside momentarily. If her creation could go beyond its intended boundaries, she must test them. This was just so exciting! Hermione Granger, just a plain ordinary witch, would choose to become a frequent time traveler!

The plump woman came back with their beverages and before she could ask whether they wanted anything more, Severus waved his hand at her to leave them be. Hermione's eye followed his gesture and was caught by the odd way he held his hands, stiff and elegant.

"Well, as you explained it to me, you have become unstuck in time. Your time turner sends you to random points in the past, sometimes recent, sometimes not—"

"Like Billy Pilgrim from Slaughterhouse-Five?" she interrupted unintentionally.

Severus closed his eyes in frustration and took a sip of his coffee. He allowed the bitterness to subside before he began again, "As much as Muggle literature excites me, this really is not the time, and please do not excuse my pun. Your visits never last very long, a few days at most, and somehow that thing," he pointed at the time turner around Hermione's neck, "always takes you back eventually. You told me once that what you turn the dial to did not matter—"

"How many times have I visited? Did I say anything about why the equation does not fit? Oh! Have I ever told you that what I need is an amalgamating function?" Hermione interrupted again.

He ignored her this time, "You turn the dial to any date and it takes you to a place and time which you have no control over, but there is a pattern. Your trips seem to revolve around the fall of the Dark Lord, around but never quite towards." He stopped and glanced at her over-eager face knowing she was brimming with questions and would interrupt him mercilessly if he went on.

"There is a list of your visits, about 100 of them."

"A list! Can I see it?"

"Of course not! You have yet to make it. Unless you write the list, you cannot read it because we might cease to exist." He appeared to relish withholding information from her.

Hermione sat and quietly thought it over while drinking her tea. How could her equation not be perfect? It was a beautiful piece of Arithmancy. New questions were piling up and she left the Arthimancy for later.

"If I have no control over where I go, how do I know when to give you the list? Does that not imply that the list could be incomplete?"

Severus thought about this. In truth, he did consider it once since there was quite a disconcerting fact about the list: there were no entries past 1998. He drafted a careful reply of half truth to this question before stating, "You fix your time tuner and our meeting is intentional."

"Does the list have locations written down?"

"Sometimes."

This answer seemed to satisfy her, but she had the uncomfortable feeling there was something amiss. If he had a location and time, he could go to meet her. But sometimes—what happened when there was no location?

"I travel back quite frequently—why is it that I always meet you?"

The wizard leaned his head on his right hand and ran the fingertips of his other hand down the wood table top. Hermione's gaze followed his squarish fingers intently and watched as he traced the rim of his porcelain cup. She did not have to look at his face to know that she would not receive a straight answer. In fact, she could sense his lips curling into a sneer which she knew all too well.

"I suppose I'm just far too charming to avoid."

Skeptical, she said, "Do you seek me out on the days listed?"

"Do you go certain places on purpose?"

Her eyes flicked up to his face and noticed something she could not identify in his eyes. The look sent a shiver through her veins which sparked the uncanny suspicion it was not amusement, but something stained by sadness. There was always a sort melancholy about the man beneath all his sarcasm.

"Didn't anyone teach you that you can't answer a question with one?"

"Were you supposed to?" he countered sharply, "I should think that you'd understand we follow no rules."

Rules. Hermione loved rules and he had just told her that rules were insignificant.

"Well, I suppose time is sometimes strange like that—"

"And so perfectly circular?" he finished for her. Hermione wrinkled her brow in confusion; she couldn't understand how he managed to know what she was going to say. It wasn't legilimency since there was no sense of prying fingers in her thoughts. Unless he was so skilled that she could not notice, but there was no motive and no gain out of it.

She continued, "It could be that what will happen has already happened. So all events are—"

"Simultaneously occurring?" he completed her thought again.

Severus smirked at her surprised annoyance and said, "Don't be dense now, listen to what was just said. Everything has already happened. We've already had this very same conversation. Isn't time just splendidly predictable like that?"

Hermione shook her head and replied defensively, "No, because not everything has been written. There are still countless things which have not happened. You don't know everything about me, and I may not make a list now. The past can be changed because it is happening at once as the future."

The tea cup was warm between her hands. With caution, she raised the hot liquid to her lips and took the smallest of sips as to not burn her tongue. Bitterness hidden by the sugar occupied her senses and helped to dispel some of her building apprehension.

"But the future has weighted dependence on the past because our minds make it so. If you do not give me the list, I would not be here to change your mind. I would be in bed enjoying my day off. All of this," he gestured to the shop around them, "is completely trivial. Worrying about life and death is futile because we have already lived and died as we speak. We only make the distinction between past, present and future because we have the memory to do so. It is a creation from—"

"The hearts of men," she whispered. Severus seemed to be amused by their sudden reversal.

From the hearts of men—she knew this conversation too. When did it happen? She could hear a low smooth voice in her ears. It was at Hogwarts, so many years ago. Professor Snape, yes, a much older Severus Snape had told her these words when she received her first time turner. Her thirteen year-old self hadn't understood what he meant then, but it all made sense now. Hermione stared at Severus, wild eyes showing her shock.

Everything fit together so well, into a perfect circle. He had been right, time was marvelously predictable. He knew her all his life from her future travels, but the same could be said for her. She'd known him all her life as her professor.

"How old are you today?" She asked.

"Quite old I assure you."

Shaking her head, she demanded, "A straight answer for once!"

"Twenty-five."

Hermione nodded and smiled at the answer wistfully. It seemed almost poetic that they should finally meet in the middle, both with completely disjoint encounters of each other from their pasts.

At that moment, it occurred to her that their lives had been so previously arranged that their fates were inexplicably twisted around each other. No amount of denying or arguing was ever going to change it. It was almost horrifying.

Her past was his future and his past was her future.

"Life is lived in symmetry, isn't it?"

She stared at him and found him studying her too.

"Perfect symmetry."

He gave her the faintest of smiles, a strange expression that barely fit his face due to disuse. Hermione sensed there was something odd between them, an aspect of their relationship with each other she could not understand. There was a deep and sullen disappointment, but also thankful relief. Perhaps she had said something hurtful during their last meeting.

"I'm sorry I'm not the person you were waiting for."

Unsettled by her comment, he broke eye contact and glanced out the window instead.

"Don't waste words on things so meaningless."

Hermione knew she probably should not speak her mind since the man before her was never a fan of anything she had to say. It also seemed much too inappropriate; but then again, they were on much better terms than she expected. Before she could censor herself, her question rushed out. She simply was too curious.

"Severus—"

He turned sharply.

"Was I something—more—to you?"

The young witch looked at him, futilely searching an answer on his expressionless face. He met her gaze and paused, frozen in the moment. Perhaps he was unable to give an adequate answer. After a few minutes, he began to speak, but before he could utter a single word, Hermione felt everything turn into grey. Color, sound, feeling: it all bled into each other. When she collected her mind, she was sitting at her desk looking into the face of one Almerick Sanders. The taste of earl grey tea was still on her lips. Hermione sat motionless for a while before placing the time turner down on the desktop.

"Well?" he asked her anxiously.

"1985. I was in 1985."

"Goodness!" he exclaimed. The other Unspeakables all rushed over to see the commotion. It took a long time to calm them down after she'd told her tale. In fact, everyone was so excited that they all rushed off to tell their colleagues in the other rooms. The ticking clocks of the room seemed to take over in their absence.

When everyone was gone, Hermione placed her parchment back into the drawer and bumped her hand against a little brown book. Her mother had given her the simple journal many years before, but she'd never found the need to write anything in it. Today, though, her mind was filled with scrambled thoughts she could not sort through. She did not know where to begin, there was simply too much.

Twisting a lock of hair around her finger, she thought back to their meeting. She could see his smirk, his lack of patience with her, his captivating gestures. And so she began to write.

"I shook a pair of beautiful hands today."


	3. The Other Side

A/N: Um...two years is a long time to rest, but had to do my research, you know. This also had the misfortune of only writing itself in reverse order. I've had the epilogue and prologue done since the inception, but such is life.

* * *

**Chapter 2 – The Other Side**

.

Ron flipped the page to her next entry. It was blank page. He was suddenly reminded of Hermione's presence, not just her words and her story, but her actually being. His Hermione, obsessive compulsive Hermione who always liked to leave a blank page at the beginning and end of everything. It gave him a small smile.

Delicately, he turned the page by its lower corner, careful not to rip it. It was a page of numbers and symbols that he could not decipher. She had drawn an image in the center of it, a solid disk with arrows pointing into a hole in the middle. He could not recall what it was called, but he knew it was some sort of math diagram. It was a cow, a taurus…no...it was a torus.

After many pages of cryptic arithmancy and occasional comments, he finally found some english.

.

"_I never realized how different being young was…"_

.

1978: Severus is 18.

"So what are your plans post-graduation, my boy?"

The fat professor was making an attempt to walk fast down the vast stone hallway, but ended up simply rocking from side to side at his usual pace. He had a stack of essays in one hand and a blueberry scone he was busy consuming in the other. His pupil walking beside him made no efforts to answer the question.

The student's hair was long and greasy, a few months past due for a haircut. But young Severus Snape had a neglected look about him in general that spoke quite plainly he neither tried nor cared with regards to his appearance. It simply did not occur to him that it was important.

They passed a witch fumbling with the keys to her office. She was surrounded by a crowd of students eager to enter and plead for help. It seemed as if their presence made it extra impossible to get the right key into the lock.

"Ha! Queuing up in front of the office so early in the day? Must be exam time!" he quipped at the other Professor.

She gave him a weak look of disinterest and rolled her eyes, "Save it, Horace, it'll be you before you know it."

Horace Slughorn chuckled and took a bite of his scone before he waddled on, student in tow.

"Well then, what were we saying. Oh yes, post-graduation. Got any ideas, Severus?"

"No, sir," Severus replied blandly.

Slughorn nodded sympathetically, "I was like that myself when I was young. Well don't you worry; I've got quite a few friends in the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. In fact, I just heard a little rumor the other day that Herbert Chamberlain was looking for an antidote maker. Marvelous opportunity if I say so myself."

"Thank you for the suggestion, sir, I will—look into it." The answer was extremely non-committal.

His plans for life far exceeded what Slughorn had planned for him. He needed to become something more than a wage slave getting by in life on an ordinary job. Severus Snape was destined for greatness, he felt, and by greatness, he meant that his presence would cause the wizarding world to be forever changed.

"Walking these halls isn't what it used to be, dear boy," Slughorn complained, "Really need old Albus to let me retire."

The rotund professor stroked his mustache, dusting it of the many crumbs that had accumulated, and gave Severus a big pat on the back before dismissing him. His student gave a tired look behind his back. Slughorn was not a man who could grasp what was most important in life; he could only understand collecting and climbing the social ladder. And so in Severus's eyes, his head of house was a simpleton living without any sort of reason. Such a wizard did not warrant his respect.

He pushed his hair back and headed toward the edge of school grounds. Carefully picking up his robes, he stepped over muddy patches of recently melted snow to avoid soiling his clothes. At one point, he made a small detour to the lake to stop and inspect his teeth and made sure that there was nothing stuck. The young wizard was expecting a visitor, and he was sure she could come no closer than the forest.

It was a great surprise when he reached the forest edge and she was already there, standing by a tree looking dazed and confused. Her crisp blue robes were torn at several places and her hair was as unmanageable as ever.

"Madge!" he yelled for her attention. He noticed that she was looking rather pale when he approached her.

Hermione glanced at him briefly and said, "Oh I think I'm going to be ill."

Severus ran to her to help steady her.

"How—pleasant it is to see you as well."

"Oh I think I fell through some trees. The earth must be in a slightly different rotation path. Idiot me forgot to..." she put a hand over her mouth to prevent herself from vomiting.

"Oh Merlin."

Hermione put her hand up, warning him to keep his distance. He seemed flimsy and thin but quite tall already. Wavering for a few moments, she waited for her stomach to settle. Chilly wind howled through the barely awoken trees, billowing Severus's black school robes. If he was cold without his cloak, he certainly did not show it.

Finally, the witch came out of the trees and into the edge of the field. Tired and rather sleep deprived from her too-frequent trips, she gave Severus a watery smile and said, "So Severus, at school I see."

"It is April 8, 1978. I am—shall we say—looking forward to my departure," he replied sleekly.

"Seventh year, oh yes" Hermione noted with amusement, "Relish the time you have remaining, it may not seem so now, but you will grow to miss the comforts of Hogwarts once you are gone. Are you studying for the N.E.W.T.S.?"

Severus snorted and gave her a very Professor Snape-like smirk, "Studying? Of course not. If I don't know the material by now, I deserve to receive failing marks."

She laughed at his response. A mere week ago, she wouldn't have dared to be so open with him, but only a few encounters into their long and tortuous journey together had already formed a sort of kinship. They were both in on the same big secret and it was as if her previous memory of him was nothing but a waning misconception. He was all of the negative things he had been before, but he was also so much more than she'd ever imagined.

The woman waved her wand and her robes stitched themselves back together. Her bushy hair, on the other hand, refused to be tamed by her magic and merely shook angrily in protest. "My word, you are certainly a humble one," she said sarcastically, flicking a leaf from her curls.

"Hubris is for those who lack real skill," he returned, rather unashamed.

"Then, great narcissist, do tell me why I have managed to fall through the trees."

The young man was quiet for a while, contemplating her question. For a moment, Hermione was sure that she stumped him. But to her surprise, he spoke just as she was about to unleash her solution to the problem and set him in his place.

"You must be over compensating for the earth's rotational motion," he shot out smartly.

It was Hermione's turn to smirk. He had gotten it right, but not all the way right. "A fair guess, but that only explains why I am not comfortably sitting in my armchair at home. Why am I at a different altitude? Surely the elevation of Hogwarts does not change with time. Your answer is only half good, I'm afraid."

Severus frowned at her with cold eyes, "But it does explain it! If your home is not the same altitude, then of course you end up appearing in the air!"

"I hardly think my house is any higher than Hogwarts, which is in the mountains. Why, I should be buried in the ground then," she taunted.

"How do I know that is true? Perhaps you are just lying to make a point," he said indignantly, "Wouldn't put it past you."

"I would do no such thing!" Hermione exclaimed rather seriously, feeling outraged at the accusation, "I have very strong integrity and moral fiber, thank you. It speaks volumes of yours, though, if that is the first thing you think of rather than solving the problem at hand. The reason why my calculations were off on the location and elevation is because I had forgotten about the precession of the earth.

"I used the North Pole as a reference point for my location, but completely forgot that the North Pole never stays still, it wobbles as the earth turns. So when the math gives me local coordinates, it's actually with respect to my present day North Pole rather than your current one. The tilt at this time must be very different."

The young wizard scowled at her, displeased by her triumph over his knowledge.

Combing her wild hair with fingers, Hermione soothed, "Don't be so sour. I'm sure there are plenty of brilliant things I could not fathom in that head of yours." Truth be told, she was not a fan of young Severus. His arrogance and constant challenging of her authority was simply obnoxious. Who was he to think himself the brightest wizard of his time?

"Want to see my latest spell?" he said excitedly. Always the proud wizard, young Severus was unusually eager to showcase his talent and never needed to be asked twice. His professors seldom truly appreciated his inventions and certainly did not approve of many of them, but magic was his one great love and no one could convince him to slacken his obsession.

Hermione offered up a forced smile and replied, "Let's see it then" without actually having any interest in seeing his charm. It was most likely something slightly sinister.

The young wizard tossed his stringy hair to one side and contemplated his execution. "No," he said, "We need to be around a few people for this to work. Come, we can to go the Quidditch pitch. Everyone there is an imbecile anyway." Without waiting for her consent, he started walking. His stride was that of self-confident youth, signaling his mind had not even sensed of the possibility that Hermione might not want to follow.

By the field was a group of girls cheering for their favorite players in the air. They looked remarkably adolescent, bodies thin and oddly jointed as if their muscles had yet to catch up to their bones. Hermione stared at them and wondered if that was really the way she had looked once.

Once they were in hearing range, Severus smirked and flicked his wand.

"_Muffliato._"

The word brought back many memories and Hermione couldn't help but grin. The simple charm had brought her peace of mind and saved her countless times. It also brought back to reality whom she was speaking to—that mean spirited but clever boy immortalized by cramped writing in an advanced potions textbook. In many respects, Hermione could share the sentiment of her two friends who had been so charmed, but she could not fully shake that small splinter of jealousy in her mind.

"Now watch," the pale wizard announced gleefully. He turned to the group of girls and shouted, "Sirius Black has venereal disease!"

The girls did not pay any attention. "See?" he sneered gleefully, "They can't hear us, not one word."

"Very clever," Hermione ceded.

"_Finite_. Shall I try it again?"

"No need to shout, I believe you," she said as she patted him lightly on the shoulder, "It's very impressive magic, I'm sure your exams will be quite a breeze for you."

Severus beamed under her praise.

"Well, if it isn't Snivellus," a voice jeered from behind them. Hermione noted that his expression instantly changed to one of hatred. Hands clenched tightly around his wand, Severus threw a dirty look at the handsome boy behind them.

Sirius Black had just come down from practice, still holding a broom. His robes were open and his shirt underneath slightly unbuttoned; he was full of boyish charm and upon just one look, Hermione discovered that she fully understood what Remus Lupin meant when he had said Sirius was everything that Severus was not. He was charismatic and easy going with a smile that could sell even empty boxes to a goblin.

"Who is this," Sirius smirked, "your girlfriend or your nanny? Can't get a girl your own age, Snivelly?"

Through clenched teeth, the skinny waffish teenager threw back quicker than expected, "She is not! We're nothing like that!" His denial was far more vehement than Hermione thought was warranted.

"And here I was, ready to congratulate you."

Severus, with eyes full of rage, reacted quickly and raised his wand with hexes readied on his lips. Sirius brought his wand up defensively in equal speed. Just as the two boys were about to duel, Hermione lunged forward and pulled Severus back with all her strength.

"This is not the way civilized wizards act!" she shouted.

Her message fell on deaf ears as he shook every way and tried to pried her off.

"Well well, I would never act uncivilized around a lady," Sirius said snidely and lowered his wand. He walked up to Hermione, who had to keep an even tighter hold on Severus now.

"Let go!" Severus said forcefully as he wrestled his way free.

Sirius smirked and traced over Hermione with his eyes. "Much better than I thought at first, you did pretty good this time, Snivellus. Sleep with her yet? Oh wait, no woman could ever sleep with you! She'd keep sliding off with all that slime."

"Words before wands," she warned a mutinous looking Severus..

"Get lost, Black. Can you hear that sound? I think it's Potter calling for his pet dog." he hissed, voice dangerous and low.

The other boy sent him a glare, "How long did it take you to come up with that one?"

"Count your blessings that my guest is saving your sorry arse today. I'd have blasted you to a million pieces otherwise."

"I'd like to see you try," Sirius taunted, wand readied at his side. Severus's wand was ever faster and flicked to point at the other boy's chest.

"Severus Snape!" Hermione shouted, commanding and authoritative.

The sallow boy breathed out a long breath and withdrew his black wand. He looked terribly angry. "Don't think yourself the winner, Black. It's out of respect for her that I'm letting you skate today."

The handsome boy laughed and swished his long black locks out of his eyes. "Whatever you need to make yourself feel better." He turned to Hermione and gave her an easy smile. "If you ever get tired of this grease ball, owl me, it's Sirius Black" he winked, "I dig older women."

Hermione gaped at the young wizard incredulously as he hopped on his broom. This was Harry Potter's godfather propositioning her, a distinctly unsettling turn of events.

"You should have let me hex him. I'm going to make him pay one day," Severus spat, "Once I join the new order, he'll be begging me to let him out of the hell he'll be in."

"The new order?" Hermione wrinkled her brow at the phase.

"Oh yes. The Dark Lord. He has unimaginable magic and the power to do things that morons like Black can barely dream. With him, we can change the entire Wizarding world! We'll end prejudice and social stratification by uniting people by blood—pure blood. Then it wouldn't be about being poor or rich; status will be judged by magic alone."

To hear him speak such praise of Voldemort made Hermione shiver. Her brown eyes bore deep into his black ones as she said softly, "Is that what he has been selling you? This is not the answer, Severus. This war is not a secret political society for pretty ideologies. What he's doing, it's nothing but terrorism. You are right that it is about blood—spilling the blood of innocents."

Proud and confident, Severus rebuked, "Change is among us, can you not feel it? The grinding machine that is the Ministry has been corrupted and we need a new order. If only you could have seen his exceptional magic, Madge!"

"This is not a wise path," she said sadly and shook her head. It was not her place to convince him otherwise. He was such a keystone for the events to come that she could not on good conscience make a valiant effort to dissuade him.

"You don't understand," he said, "I must and I will be on the winning side."

A chilling wind had begun howling in the fields and Hermione felt sufficiently cold to leave the conversation for indoors. She sighed dejectedly and signaled for them to head to the castle. It was upsetting that decisions made at such a young age could spell undoing of an entire lifetime. Did he ever even have a chance? To be born into war was a frightening burden.

There were things that were his fault, shortcomings that were his responsibility, yes. But what choice did this stringy unloved boy really have? He could have refused the dark mark. He could have refused the ideals of his peers. Yet those were tasks very nearly impossible for a mere child—to turn his back upon the first supporting community he had been inducted into. Hermione suspected that his fate had been sealed the moment the Sorting Hat had called out Slytherin.

"Severus," she whispered through the winds, "I would rather you not do this, but know that I am on your side, no matter what path you should choose."

His bottomless black eyes gleamed and lingered on her for a long time.

Hermione felt sullen and faithless confronted with the conflict of interest her offer provided. On one hand, she could not abandon this poor boy to face the world alone. On the other hand, her principles could not support the blood prejudice he worked to realize. But his hardship moved her, and so she would help him, perhaps even out of the wicked way he aimed to take.

Hermione felt a thrill at the thought of being in war once more—it was a familiar and exciting feeling of being so utterly alive.

Only this time around, she was on the wrong side of things.

.


	4. One Wrong Adjustment

A/N: Many thanks to my beta Lilith.

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**Chapter 3 - One Wrong Adjustment**

**.**

**.**

"I need to speak with the senior secretary of the department of mysteries."

Ron tapped his wand impatiently on the marble counter of the level nine information desk. The portly little witch rustled from some papers and replied curtly, "I'm afraid you don't have the security clearance, Mr. Weasley."

"Security!" he said, outraged, "Do you bloody know who I am? I'm Ronald Weasley! I'm an auror, I can go wherever I please!"

The witch scrunched her flat nose in a falsely sweet smile and said, "So I see, but you must have an entry form signed by the senior secretary in order to enter, Mr. Weasley."

Ron looked at her incredulously, "But I'm here to_ see_ the senior secretary."

"Entry forms are available in the Minister's undersecretary's office on level one," the little witch pointed to the elevator doors.

"How am I supposed to get something signed by the senior secretary if I need that very signature to see him?"

"Good day, Mr. Weasley," the witch smiled sweetly again and floated away from the desk.

Ron took another look at the revolving doors and the huge marble counter and muttered, "Bloody bureaucrats." It's no wonder Hermione went completely nutters.

.

_"Don't look away, when there's nothing there."_

_._

1988: Severus is 27

Hogwarts was quiet with the silence of winter.

Winter holiday, Hermione guessed from the deep snow everywhere. She was flung from the castle by protective wards when she first appeared; the force threw her so far that she was skating across the frozen lake even with a cushioning charm.

Unsure of whether going through the front entrance hall alone with no Severus to escort her would set off any alarms, she entered through the side walkways by the Herbology greenhouse. The castle did not seem to mind her presence and she was admitted without much fuss.

The hallways were familiar, but eerily dense with tension. She wandered within the castle, reminiscing fondly of the many years she'd spent within its walls. Yellow sandstone seemed to welcome her touch as she ascended stairs towards Gryffindor tower. Did Hogwarts surpass time and recognize every pupil who will ever walk through its halls? She wondered.

Not knowing the Fat Lady's password, she descended again, this time heading toward Astronomy tower. Some of the portraits in the staircases looked at her curiously, following her movements from frame to frame. At the top of the tower was a darkly cloaked figure watching the twilight intently. He occasionally pushed up the sleeves of his robes and rested upon the banisters, a luxury he was not usually privy to.

Hermione watched him for several minutes before coughing lightly to announce herself.

The man turned suddenly, wand out and black robes swishing behind him. She could not see his eyes in the dimness, but his face was serious and angular in the diffuse light. Holding hands up, Hermione said, "Hello Severus, feeling paranoid tonight?"

"Ah-Mademoiselle Magdalene, you catch me at an inopportune time. This happens to be where certain-mischievous young wizards will sneak around after their curfew," he said softly, pushing his sleeves down.

"And it give you pleasure to deny them their privacy on one lonely winter's eve?"

Severus smirked, "Quite."

He swept fluidly toward her, face angled as to better see her pale figure in the dusk. A gentle current fluttered the ends of long robes around his feet. The air between them was thick enough to cut with a knife. It was a beautiful moment, the type that paintings were made of. Eyes glowing wine colored in reflection, Hermione gave him a little smile.

"January 2, 1988. A bewitching dusk. Your own words," he recited softly before she even asked. Unhesitatingly, he added, "Grey suits you well" referring to her sparkling grey robes.

"This coming from a man who wears nothing but the absence of color?" she laughed.

"You are mistaken, I daresay," he said in good humor, "Black happens to be the sum of all colors, the most colorful of them all."

An awkward silence fell between them. Glancing down at his long sleeves, Hermione ventured, "You need not conceal your secret with me."

Severus looked stricken.

As she moved toward him, she felt herself being pulled away through the very depth of being. Already? Hermione looked down to see her time turner spinning uncontrolled. She thought she heard him yell "not yet!" but it felt more like a sight than a sound. When the air was still once more, she was still in Astronomy Tower, but Severus was no where to be seen. She glanced at the golden pendant in her hand and noticed it had stopped.

The sun had seemed to jump back up into the sky, filling the room with an orange wash.

Hermione panicked. She always ended up back at her desk in the Department of Mysteries, not somewhere else. Her newest adjustment of the gear tension was definitely a wrong choice. It had most likely caused a jam in the tiny mechanical machinery.

"Madge?" a small voice called from her left.

To Hermione's surprise it was a pallid boy, barely her height, in too-short robes. He looked at her with an expression of satisfaction and eagerness. His stringy overly long hair clung together in thick swaying strands as he practically ran over to her.

"What year are you in?" Hermione asked tentatively, unsure of how to speak. She did not quite know what to make of him.

"Third!" he said proudly, "I had the top charms marks last term."

"That is wonderful to hear, Severus. Is it not approaching curfew?" she nodded and patted him on the shoulder to show her approval.

"Well, yes, but who cares? Only idiots get discovered wandering after hours. Plus, I have plans ahead of me. Melinda Wilkes has asked me to tutor her in Astronomy."

"Oh?"

"Yes, " he said seriously, "She's pretty dim, but has some deep pockets if you know what I mean. I'm supposed to meet her in the dungeons in a hour. How are you supposed to study Astronomy in the dungeons? There aren't any windows!"

Hermione tried to hold back her giggles. "And where in the dungeons?"

"A cramped, broom-closet of a classroom. Dim, isn't she? But I don't argue with gold."

"Severus," the witch said kindly, "Has it crossed your mind that Miss Wilkes does not actually want to study Astronomy."

He scrunched up his face in response, "Well certainly, that's why she's hired me."

"Not like that, Severus. She's picked the smallest, darkest, most remote classroom because she fancies a snog!"

Young Severus looked absolutely horrified at this suggestion.

"Oh no, no, not again." Hermione suddenly felt a familiar pull of her senses. The thin lanky boy reached over to lend her a hand. She swiftly jerked her arm away, feeling weightless. Unable to help stumbling backwards, she cried, "You mustn't try to follow! Ever! Promise me!"

The last thing she could see was his bewildered look.

When the walls stopped swimming, Hermione was again alone in Astronomy Tower. 'Oh lord,' she thought, 'I'm never getting out of this one.' Be proactive, she coached herself, and ran down the staircase. The steps seemed to spiral forever before giving way to a wide corridor. A painting of a skinny aristocratic lady stared at her and then whispered to a visiting old witch with a big round hat. The round hat bobbled as the old witch scratched her nose and gave a twist of her head looking like she'd heard something scandalous.

Hermione turned to her left. Only a few steps afterward, a huge black figure loomed toward her, robes billowing out from the haste of his pace. He cause sight of her and seemed to walk even faster. Hermione shivered, stomach feeling sick with dread. She could see his nostrils flaring as he breathed heavily, eyes boring into hers.

"_Expelliarmus_!" he shouted with vengeance, blasting her wand several meters down the hall. Hermione barely had time to register what was happening.

In one swoop, he shoved her against the wall with one hand around her neck, the other with wand raised to her temple. Hermione clutched at his fingers trying to release herself. Brown eyes full of terror and heart thumping, she struggled to breathe against his iron grip.

"Did you think I would never find out?" he snarled, face contorted in hatred.

"Severus, stop this—" she gasped for air, "You're—hurting—me."

He cruelly closed his fingers and leaned in, barely an inch from her frightened face. "September 23, 1993. Ring a bell? Did you think this little game of yours would go on forever?" he said, barely above an icy whisper. Hermione shook her head as best as she could. Tears streamed down her blotchy cheeks.

"I—can't breathe," she croaked.

Not sparing her any mercy, he continued to hold her against the coarse sandstone. "You dare think a fool, Miss—"

"Please—stop—" she interrupted him with a desperate plead.

Suddenly, he let her go and backed away, staring at his left hand as if he had touched fire. Hermione crumpled to the ground and put a hand around her throat, violently coughing and wheezing from the lack of air. Severus was retreating slowing, color draining from his face. When he hit the opposite wall, he slumped down and pulled his knees against his chest. Ashen and paralyzed, he sat quietly watching Hermione grope for her wand on her knees. She sniffed and wiped her face on her sleeves, trying to stop the spasms in her lungs.

When she grasped her wand, she turned to him with a mixture of fear and anger. Trembling, she pulled herself upright, holding the stone walls for support. Hermione sniffed away the last of her tears and inched toward him with her wand out.

"Don't look at me!" he hissed, burying his face into his robes.

"How dare you assault me," she spat out, voice quivering still.

This time, Hermione was glad to feel the walls disintegrate around her. She was standing in the dark between two brick row houses. The streets were empty and the air chilly. The bushy-haired witch let out a sob, both in relief and in frustration. It wasn't Hogwarts, but it wasn't the Time Room either. She was never going to get back to the present. After that last violent encounter, she wanted nothing more than to be sitting at her desk.

Following flickering streetlamps, she wandered down the main alleyway. There was a distinct scent of rotting sewage and industrial river water wafting in the night air. Rows upon rows of dark brick houses with grimy windows studded the river bank like little boxes. As Hermione took a right, she began to hear the sound of rushing water. Eyes now dry and her nerves more relaxed, she ambled along the dirty side road with wand tightly gripped.

Would she see him? She hoped not.

After a few minutes of exploring the never-ending labyrinth of identical houses without seeing a single soul, she began to worry. Surely she would not have to be homeless for the evening. Perhaps she should apparate to the Leaky Cauldron and purchase a room for the night. It was the logical thing to do, but Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that she'd fail to complete a vital task.

Rubbing her puffy eyes, she looked around for indications of her whereabouts. Beside a half broken streetlamp was a sign.

"Spinner's End," she read aloud. It didn't ring a bell.

A sharp sound of shattering glass disrupted her thoughts. Hermione immediately raised her wand. Several houses down Spinner's End, yellow light was streaming out of a broken window. She thought she could hear raised voices. Stealthily creeping over, the witch was careful to not step on any glittering glass shards.

Peeking into the window, she saw a middle aged man with matted short hair and a hooked nose yelling at a woman sitting down. She had a long sad face and an unnaturally pale aura.

"Look what you've made me do!" he screamed at her, pointing directly at Hermione who ducked down briefly.

"It's not his fault, he can't help himself," she pleaded, reaching for her husband's hand.

The hook-nosed man looked at her with revulsion and slapped her hand away. As he raised his hand to attack her again, a book flew out of nowhere and hit him on the head. The pallid woman gave a dry sob and moved to fold her hands into her chest defensively, preparing for a blow.

"That was you, wasn't it!" he shrieked at a corner of the room.

Hermione squinted to see what was in the shadows. It was a boy so small that she'd not even noticed him until then. He had unkempt long black hair and was wearing an over sized patched nightshirt. The boy looked no older than six and was sitting with his knees clutched to his chin, much in the same way grown Severus Snape had sat in the Hogwarts halls, not too long ago. He shook his head vehemently and backed even further against the bookcase.

"Answer me!" the man roared.

"He didn't do it," his wife said quietly, "Don't blame him, he's just a child."

Fuming, the man moved to strike her for her lip. Hermione tapped her wand and whispered, "_Confundus_."

Swaying back, the man looked around, thoroughly confused and suddenly said, "Yes, it's not his fault."

The woman and the boy were still both looking terrified, but relieved at this absurd change of heart. She turned to her son in the corner and whispered, "Was that you, Severus?"

The little boy shook his head even harder and retreated again.

"Don't lie to me now," his mother insisted, only to receive more head shaking.

Hermione wanted to stay in case she could help them some more, but the time turner was spinning again. She could hear it's soft ticking gears in the evening silence.

With a flourish, she was back in the office behind her desk. Her foot knocked against the front plank and she gave a little yell. Many of the wizards and witches in front of her turned back to see what had happened and she gave them a sheepish smile. Setting the time turner aside, she moved to jot down her notes about the gear tension.

Still shaken about the experiences, she did not permit herself to think about what had just happened. Severus was young, then old, then a boy-she did not know what to think of him. He had attacked her, yes, but he had also been frightened and sad, and kind.

Ernest Fawcett who sat behind her leaned forward and beckoned her to turn around. When she did, he whispered to her, "Hermione, you smell dreadful!"

Giving him and his overly large sideburns a withering look, she rolled her eyes and turned back to her desk. When she was sure no one was looking, she picked up a piece of her hair and sniffed it. He was right, she did smell dreadful.

Mind jumbled and heart uneasy, she pushed her chair back and packed her purse. After a lot of internal debate and conflict, she flicked her eyes around the room for watchers and swept the time turner into her purse as well.

"I'm taking the day off," she said to Sanders as she passed his desk.

The twitchy old wizard turned his beady eyes on her and opened his mouth but said nothing when she shot a venomous glare back.


	5. The Trial

Notes: Thank you for reading and thanks to my beta, LilyGirl101

* * *

**Chapter**** 4 - ****The ****Trial**

.

Overwhelming darkness covered her eyes.

Struggling on the shifting floor, she blindly grasped at the ground only to find it was quicksand, enveloping her every touch. She was falling deeper and deeper with each motion until it encased her entire body in dense grains. The air flowed out of her lungs from the pressure and she felt as though she were being compressed into dust herself.

"Did you think I would never find out?"

Over and over, all she could hear in her breathless drowning was his icy voice.

Hermione woke up with a start. Just what had he found out?

Was it something she would do? September 23, 1993 was just after the Hogwarts term commencement. He had called her "Miss" with such a familiar contempt that her mind automatically filled in "Granger".

He knew who she was.

She tossed off her heavy duvet in panic and winced from the harsh dryness in her throat. When her ragged breaths eased away, she turned to her nightstand and stared at a bundle of small golden wire bound glass gears. Tucking a hand under her pillow, Hermione stared at it for a long time without blinking.

He'd always known and yet never treated her any different.

He knew.

.

.

November, 1981

Dumbledore wiggled his eyebrows in front of a mirror.

"Barty," he sighed as he adjusted his tilted cap, "I'm afraid you are mistaken. I have vouched for him in front of everyone."

A severe-looking wizard sitting behind a yet more severe monolithic hardwood desk looked at the headmaster through deep sunken eyes and said, "Your word alone cannot fend off public outrage, and even you are only human. He has been accused and therefore must go through the full justice system; trial and all, should it be necessary."

Taking a step toward the desk, Dumbledore leaned forward and regarded the man sadly.

"And I must advise that such a trial would be completely unnecessary. You and I both know what the outcome will be."

The man straightened his already stiff back and cleared his throat.

"Then by all means testify on his behalf at the trial."

The elderly headmaster fixed his piercing blue eyes on the compulsively neat ministry official and said, "My condolences on—recent events. Remember, one must not project one's own disappointments on an innocent wizard."

Bartemius Crouch slammed his palms down on his barren mahogany desk as he shot out of his seat. His pristine robes were now sitting unevenly on his narrow shoulders. Perfectly parted brown hair fell from his head and hung in his eyes as he replied furiously, "You have crossed the line, Dumbledore!"

Barely registering his outburst, the old wizard adjusted his hat once again and suggested gently, "But that is what you are doing, Barty. He is not your son, so do not punish him as such."

"I have no son!" Crouch roared, fully livid, "Let me make myself plain, old man. Severus Snape will be investigated regardless of your support. And I have no doubt that he will stand a full trial! In fact, I shall see to it that his dangerous status warrants a tenure at Azkaban until then! And my decision will not be open for further discussion." He squeezed his thin lips into a single line and pointed at the door with a trembling hand.

Dumbledore sighed, hat falling crooked again.

.

"_I__ know__ it__'__s__ a __lie__, __I__ want__ it__ to__ be__ true__."_

.

1981: Severus is 21

Hermione landed in a moving lift.

Despite being its sole patron, the elevator was already set to stop at Level Nine. The Department of Mysteries? She wondered why she was going to her place of work.

When the lift opened with a jarring crash forward, she tentatively stepped out and inspected the door immediately to her front. It was the same as it was every morning she went to work, dark and coldly minimal. Then Hermione glanced at the long black staircase to her left. She could not describe why, but she just had an odd feeling that the courts were the place to be today.

Heels clacking on the stone slabs, she made her way up the stairs to Level Ten. The dark marble corridors reminded her of the Hogwarts dungeons; dark air whispering, cold, and unyielding. She admired the architects of this level; the halls were very effective at making its people feel small and powerless in the face of the law. Far down the corridor, a crowd of somber people were standing outside of Courtroom nine. They looked to be queuing to enter.

Hermione walked towards them, attempting to look purposeful. Her robes were not nearly formal enough to pass as any ministry court employee, but she was determined to let attitude carry her through any suspicion.

Thankfully, the act worked and she filed in at the end behind all the other witches and wizards. Following the small group of spectators and witnesses to the left, she sat down on the top row of the high benches opposite of the black robed Wizengamot. A tall stiff looking man with a toothbrush mustache she recognized as Barty Crouch sat in the foreground judge seat. She thought he looked particularly troubled today.

"This is December 6, 1981. Commence trial 15 of war crimes in support of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," Crouch said in a bored voice, "Bring out the accused."

The barred chair in the middle descended into stark granite tiling and vanished for a moment before rising back up. Hermione stifled a gasp when the metal chair emerged again. Sitting in the chair, chained and dull-faced was Severus. His robes were torn and soiled, skin pale and waxy, and face a gaunt landscape of misery. The chained wizard seemed lifeless, blinking at Crouch from sunken tired eyes.

A brown haired witch sitting several benches below Hermione burst into tears. Her sloped shoulders shook as she wailed at the sight of the prisoner. Sitting next to her, a brightly robed Dumbledore patted the woman on the back reassuringly and whispered something to her. His words did not seem to calm her at all. Crouch pounded his gavel and waved at the hysterical woman. Not two seconds later, two smartly uniformed court guards took her by the arms and dragged her out of the room.

Hermione caught a glimpse of the woman's pale face as she exited. It was Eileen Snape. Eyes darting back to Severus, Hermione felt a twinge of anguish. He had moved at all, not even to look up when his own mother was escorted out.

"Order, order," Crouch announced. "Mr. Snape has chosen to refuse aide and thus will defend himself."

He turned from the Wizengamot and looked down at the chair.

"Mr. Snape, you have been accused of collaboration with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named as a death eater in crimes punishable by lifetime incarceration. We, the counsel, have reviewed the evidence against you and it is quite compelling. Have you any words?"

Severus neither spoke nor blinked. He looked straight ahead as if he had unseeing glass eyes. Several of the court leaned forward straining to hear him, for fear that he had spoken very softly.

"Let the record reflect that the accused has no comments for the court," the judge said, rubbing his groomed mustache, "Mr. Snape, you are accused of two counts of public endangerment, one count of possession of illegal materials, and one count of treason. Have you any words?"

Again, Severus appeared to not have heard anything. It took all of Hermione's control to not stand up and go to him.

"Let the record reflect that the accused has no comments for the court," he repeated. The members of the Wizengamot sitting behind Crouch had begun to whisper to each other.

Crouch pounded his gavel and continued, "At this time, if any witnesses or defense testimonies would like to be heard, please—"

"Thank you, Barty," Dumbledore stood up before Crouch could finish. The judge twisted his face into a contemptuous frown.

"Fine wizards and witches or the Wizengamot, I would like to say, as I have before, on Mr. Snape's behalf that he has acquired those accusations for deeds done at my orders while spying for the Order of Phoenix and should not be help responsible. If anyone should be on trial for the accused crimes, it should be I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. It was at terrible personal risk that Mr. Snape has served us all and we should not be accusing him today, but thanking him for the safety of our lives and the future of our children."

The officials behind Crouch erupted in a roar of mutters which refused to calm even with Crouch pounded the gavel repeatedly. Severus had still not moved. His greasy hair hung in matted strands hair covering his face.

"Silence!" Crouch commanded, broadcasting his grave voice with a tightly gripped wand. The room suddenly fell silent at the wall shaking sonorous charm.

"Mr. Snape, need I remind you that without a declaration of innocence, testimonials on behalf are not to be admitted."

For the first time, since he arrived, Severus looked up at Crouch and spoke. His voice was a hoarse whisper, cracking every few words. "Then send me back. There's nothing left, dead, gone. Just send me back."

Everyone in the room stared at the man in the centered dumbly as Severus muttered to himself.

"This is a trial, Mr. Snape. If you are making a confession, please state for the court that you plead guilty of all charges," Crouch said stiffly with eyes cast low. Severus continued to mutter to himself under his breath much to the dismay of the judge and everyone in the room. Hermione moved down a row to hear what he was saying; it seemed to be 'lost, gone' over and over.

Crouch pounded his gavel sharply a minute later and said, "Due to the lack of coherence by the accused, counsel will commence the vote sans rebuttal."

Hermione felt her blood boil at the statement. This was a farce of a trial, completely unjust. They had shoved him in Azkaban purposely so he could not defend himself. And Dumbledore had barely made a heartfelt attempt at defending his charge. It was all utterly despicable. Hermione had an uneasy feeling that the vote would go to guilty despite what logic insisted. They had already made up their mind when they entered the room.

If no one could fight for him, she could. There were no consequences for her after all.

"This is an outrage!" she shouted out, "A parody of justice!"

Her voice rang in the circular room as it echoed down every level. Severus seemed to jump in recognition, Crouch craned his neck to see her face on the top ring.

"Disturbances in the court will not be tolerated! This is a criminal trial!" he demanded, "Remove yourself from the court immediately."

Hermione began to walk down the steps of the ring levels. For a moment, the court seemed to think that she was indeed exiting, but she had every intention to continue despite the warning. Looking straight at Severus from only a few levels up, she said to him, "Wake up, Severus. Don't let them wrongly punish you."

The prisoner looked at her with hollow eyes and replied with his cracked lips, "One does not fight their penance."

The young witch took in his answer as though it were a parcel of desperation received through the mail. She experienced an unfamiliar palpitating sensation in her heart and wanted nothing more than to run down into the iron chains and touch him. She faced the Wizengamot and berated them, "How can any of you sleep at night? This man doesn't even know what he's on trial for. Is this what fine Wizarding tradition means? Have you no shame? No dignity?"

The wizards and witches of the Wizengamot all stared at Hermione as if she had gone mad. Crouch again signaled to the guards, and they made their way down to the lower seats where Hermione stood. Now more urgently, she could not still her instinct and ran down to the court floor itself. Jumping over the railings and knocking down stacks of parchment from the first seating row, she sprinted to the chair. The marble felt soft beneath her feet and slowed her steps immensely.

In the background, alarmed voices of the court occupants rang everywhere but Hermione could not hear them. She could only see Severus in the iron cage and reached out for him. A shield charm shoved her back toward the rails, but Hermione continued to push forward.

"Severus! She needs you to live! _I_ need you to live!"

For a single second, his eyes flashed with a glitter of light. He did not speak but Hermione was sure she had reached him. Somewhere from behind her, two guards each took out their wands and Hermione felt herself being bound by invisible ropes pulling her away.

"Severus!"

He only stared at her blankly.

Before she knew it, the courtroom doors were shut, leaving her in the dark marble halls listening to the sobs of the pale witch sitting down the hall.

Hermione straightened her robes and strode over to the benches and sat down beside Eileen Snape. Her heart was still pounding. Truthfully, she was surprised at herself-making a scene in a court of law like that. Hesitantly, she sneaked a glance at the older woman. Perhaps they could talk.

Unfortunately, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't find the words or the appropriate moment to begin. Every now and then, the hiccups and sobs would subside only to return in full force seconds later as if Eileen were thinking a constant stream of upsetting thoughts. The sullen witch sniffed loudly and jerked her head occasionally to dab at her watery eyes with an old handkerchief; her many wrinkles seemed to all glistened with seeped tears no matter how much she dried them.

Only a few minutes would pass each time before Hermione compulsively glanced at the older woman awkwardly then darted her eyes back down at the floor.

Hermione knew he would be acquitted, but yet had still felt the need to protest the trial. That was the strange thing about her peregrinations; they were like visits to pensive memories with unsure outcomes. She had already seen what was to be but never felt trust in her knowledge.

Unsettled, she wondered if he was really guilty of any charges. He did not deserve the burden of guilt, yet she couldn't help but think perhaps he was not completely innocent either. What if he had killed anyone or been a part of an assassination-his allegiance been fully for the fall of Ministry? How could it be decided if his services negate his crimes?

Was the judgement rightfully reserved to the court? Or Dumbledore? Or perhaps he himself?

"I'm sorry," Hermione ventured suddenly, "He will surely be acquitted."

The spindly woman jumped at the unannounced comment and turned her beady stare onto Hermione.

"Are you a-friend?"

"Oh yes, Mrs. Snape." Hermione nodded fervently. "I'm a very good friend of Severus's. And I have word from a very good source that the court will vote in his favor."

Eileen squeezed her handkerchief and gritted her uneven teeth together. "Do you believe? What they say..."

"Of course not," Hermione replied too quickly.

The older witch blew her nose and lowered her head.

"I always tried to teach him well, you know."

"And he's brilliant. You ought to be proud. He's done so much for us all."

Eileen merely lowered her lashy eyes and sniffed even harder. She squeezed Hermione's hand painfully and bowed her head. New tears were pouring down her long face. Hermione sat frozen in discomfort, not knowing how to comfort the woman. Soft echos on great stone fell between them once again.

Time stood still in the dense silence and unkind voices filled Hermione's head. They bickered with each other and lit her worries; she had been trying to keep them at bay with conversation. Now they were running rampant through her every thought, stirring with lies and unrest.

He was completely innocent, they told her.

He was innocent.

* * *

Footnotes:

1. The Trial is an allusion to Kafka's novel of the same title.


	6. Saṃsāra

**Chapter**** 5 - ****Saṃsāra**

**.**

**.  
**

A strange-looking man stood in front of Ron's office. His overly large white eyebrows were like giant brooms sweeping over his eyes. Upon his appearance in the doorway, Ron turned from Harry Potter and welcomed the old man.

"Mr. Sanders!" he called, "Thank you for coming!"

"Oh, of course," Sanders muttered, "It is a pleasure to be called upon by the famous Harry Potter."

Ron gestured for the wizard to sit down and said, "Well, I'm quite famous too, you know."

Shuffling over to the guest chair, Sanders turned past Ron and nodded at Harry eagerly. "Yes yes, what can I do for you, Mr. Potter?"

Harry looked at Ron awkwardly and shifted his glasses. He pointed at Ron and said, "Uh, thank you, Mr. Sanders. Could you kindly direct your attention to Ron here—he's the one to talk to."

The old man's expression changed when he turned to Ron.

"Don't be so bothered, Mr. Sanders. We've just got some questions about the work of a recent employee in the Department of Mysteries. For a highly classified defense project, of course," Ron said simply.

Sanders twisted his beard with twig-like fingers. "And who are you inquiring about?"

Ron and Harry both simultaneously spoke out.

"Hermione Granger."

.

"_form__ does__ not __differ __from__ emptiness__; __emptiness__ does __not __differ __from __form__"_

_._

1988: Severus is 28

A snow white peacock strutted back and forth inside of heavy wrought iron gates. It fancied itself a gate keeper and fluffed its long delicate feathers every few minutes when black cloaked figures appeared and tapped on the metal poles. The ground was muddy and grey with the remnants of frozen and refrozen snow.

Hermione stood several meters from the entrance of Malfoy Manor. The imposing building brought a shiver through her, dredging up unpleasant memories. Fortunately, she took care to bring all kinds of clothing in her small leather clutch and drew out a deep purple wool cloak. Throwing it over her plain black robes, Hermione swept loose hairs outside of the collar. Her long curly locks were held together roughly in a chignon to hide the fact she had neglected to wash it over the weekend.

"Impeccable timing, mademoiselle."

She jumped with a startled yelp and flipped around to see Severus in sharp dress robes with hair tied back. He was a world away from the dejected shell she'd seen at the trial. A sense of relieved contentment washed over her at the sight of him looking so well. Holding a hand over her chest, she lectured him in jest, "Oh you really ought to learn to walk more loudly!"

"And miss the opportunity of surprise? I think not."

Hermione feigned annoyance and snorted, "A well-dressed bastard, but a bastard nonetheless."

"Happy 1988 Solstice," he said as he thrust a bouquet of brilliant blue irises toward her. Giving a gasp of delight, Hermione took the flowers in her arms and looked absurdly content. She touched a delicate bud at the top of a stalk and it sprang open with a burst of silvery blue.

"You've never given me flowers before—how ever did you procure these in the middle of winter?" she asked incredulously.

Severus merely looked smug and smirked, "Well, you see, I happen to be a _wizard_. And now, may I have the pleasure of your company for the Malfoys' Yuletide party? I expect they'll be beside themselves trying to figure your ancestry."

"The Malfoys? Yule?" Hermione choked. "Oh I'm terribly under-dressed, I'm afraid. But never fear, I practically have my entire wardrobe with me. It's good to be prepared, you know. I'll have to go change—do you know a place?"

He raised an eyebrow and replied, "I see no need."

Hermione shoved him playfully. "You don't understand. I can't go dressed like this—they'll laugh at us. And I will not be ridiculed by the likes of those dreadful people."

"Ah—it seems their reputation will continue to be pristine in the years to come," Severus sneered.

"If only you knew the half of it. Stay right here," the witch said hastily.

She searched the darkened walkway for any place to go hide. Some tall bushes just left of the gates seemed sufficient and Hermione rushed into them in a hurry. She gingerly eased the flowers into her purse and then fished around for her nice red dress. Her fingers kept slipping over the buttery chiffon without grasping it. Finally, she mentally kicked herself for being so stupid and simply summoned it out of the bag.

The winter air was crisp and bone chilling to change clothing in, causing Hermione to involuntarily chatter her teeth. When she clasped her cloak on a second later, she looked down at her shoes and noticed that the blue flats did not match at all. The only other pair she had in her bag were ugly heeled ankle boots her mother had gifted her. She supposed those would have to do. Buckling them on, she strode out of the trees and toward Severus.

He was waiting exactly where she had left him and held out his left arm when she neared. Hermione couldn't help but grin at his gentlemanly gesture and took his arm gladly. Her shoes were not very suited for walking on the stone paved path.

"Has anyone told you that you can be quite charming when you choose to be?" Hermione giggled.

"You make it sound as though I am not usually," he retorted as if taking offense.

Leaning slightly into him, she laughed. When they reached the gate, the pearly peafowl inside cocked its head and shook its snowflake-like crown. The gates creaked and Severus lead her inside through the dissipating metal. After numerous grand and winding stairs, they reached a large wooden door. Before they even reached for the large metallic knocker, the door opened and an aristocratic-looking woman with flaxen hair peered out.

The woman's face stiffened when she saw Hermione but quickly recovered into a close mouthed smile when her eyes swept to Severus. "Severus!" she breathed. "What a surprise! It is delightful to see you; I was beginning to think you would not show."

The beautiful witch opened the doors with flourish and held her arms out to him. In one hand, she had a half finished glass of plum-colored wine. Landing a passing kiss on his cheek, she gave him a small embrace before pulling back and fluidly posing in a graceful stance, one hand still on his right arm.

Severus slide his arm from her pale hand and bowed his head ever so slightly in a curt nod. "You think too much, Narcissa."

Hermione gave a little groan and tightened her grip on his arm. Narcissa Malfoy gave a high pitched trill of a laugh and turned to lead them into the manor. Her voice sounded like money. The flowing silver of her tailored gown gleamed with the flames of a hundred candles when she moved. Dramatically swishing her train, she looked much like the peacock by the manor gates.

"Dobby, take our guests coats," she said coldly to the grubby looking house elf in the portrait hall.

The little elf bowed and moved to receive the heavy cloaks. Severus removed his without any thought but Hermione stared at Dobby's tennis ball eyes with reservation. After a sharp tug from her companion, she unhinged the clasp and handed the garment down gently. She mouthed "thank you" to Dobby directly afterwards and the elf looked terrified, immediately running into the wall with a thud.

"What are you doing?"

Hermione turned to Severus and said seriously, "It's disgusting that elf slavery is accepted."

"Oh not again," he moaned, "Can you keep that drivel in, just this once?"

"It is not drivel, Severus! It's a very serious matter of magical beings' rights," she huffed.

By this point, Narcissa had already lead them to the drawing room where many of the other guests were. She pushed non-existent loose hairs behind her ear and reached for her husband by the large marble fireplace. The house was much warmer and beautiful than Hermione remembered. Lucius Malfoy was looking exceptionally stately in bespoke worsted deep navy.

"Severus! I trust you are well this fine Yule season," he droned.

"As well as expected," Severus replied, equally monotone. "You seem to be in rare form these days, Lucius."

The alabaster man smirked mysteriously and said proudly, "So you've heard of my appointment to the Hogwarts Board of Governors." He swirled his dark wine in self satisfaction.

"How could I not? News travels fast, particularly at Hogwarts."

Narcissa interjected suddenly as if she were bored by them. "Enough small talk. Severus, are you going to introduce us to your guest?" she said curiously as she scanned Hermione from head to toe, eyes lingering distastefully on her shoes.

Severus led Hermione's hand forward and said softly, "This is Magdalene Sanders, a—friend of mine."

The Malfoys each shook her hand politely and introduced themselves. When a server passed by with a platter of wine, Narcissa snatched two and practically shoved them into the guests' hands. Her own hands were unsteady and sloshed the wine around in their bulbous glass vessels. It would suffice to say that she seemed to have enjoyed quite a few herself already.

"Sanders," Lucius mused while sipping from his own glass, "That seems quite familiar. Any relation to Ignatius from the Ministry?"

Hermione smiled sweetly and nodded, "Oh yes, he's my uncle. We don't speak much though, he's gone a bit fanatical in the recent years."

Both Malfoys nodded sympathetically as if they knew exactly what she meant. Severus only gave her a strange cross-eyed look and quickly downed his wine. Seeing this, Hermione quickly took a large drink of the deep red beverage and was momentarily overwhelmed by its richness.

"So Magdalene, how did you meet our Severus?"

"Very long ago and very uninterestingly, I'm afraid," Severus cut in. He swapped out his empty glass for a new one. This did not seem to be enough for Lucius and the older man opened his mouth to inquire further. Luckily, they were rescued by a tall striking man who joined the circle beside Severus. The newcomer had a strong square jaw and light piercing eyes which seemed to jump out by contrast against his olive skin. Hermione did not recognize him but had an odd sense she'd seen his somewhere. His impeccable styling screamed old money and pedigree blood.

"If it isn't Severus," the man said cheerfully as he patted Severus on the back. "Didn't tell me you've found a friend, you dog."

Hermione couldn't help but blush when the man pointed his intense and indescribable eyes at her.

Severus sighed and waved his hand at the man. "Sod off, Ellsworth."

"Manners, manners, young Snape. Ellsworth Selwyn," the man extended a hand forward toward Hermione, "You've probably heard of me; the Prophet is all over my family these days."

"Magdalene Sanders," Hermione returned, instantly disgusted at having to shake his hand. She remembered where she'd met him—the Death Eater at Xenophilius Lovegood's house. His sandy voice and arrogant air were too much for her. Selwyn fidgeted with his wand and gave Hermione an odd gaze of distrust.

They chattered with the other guests until the moon was high. The people were merry and the wine flowed endlessly. Upon the clock striking midnight, Narcissa cleared her throat and tapped her glass. The crisp ring immediately brought silence to the room and all eyes where on the pale willowy witch.

"Friends, thank you all for attending out little festivity tonight. I believe Lucius has a few words he would like to say before we continue."

Lucius nodded at the guests' applause in acknowledgment. He straightened his already neat robes and raised his glass in the air. "It is with great pleasure that we welcome you into our home to celebrate another year of marvelous friendships. Let us toast our victories and triumphs and forget our failures. To new and better enterprises, preservation of our purity, and the hope of the year to come!"

The room erupted in fierce applause resonated with chinks of glasses. Hermione raised hers with a weak non-committal sigh. At this signal, soft but lively music filled the room and Lucius extended a hand to Narcissa asking for a dance. Several others in the room were doing the same as plush furniture arranged itself against the patterned walls to make room for a dance floor.

Hermione peeked at Severus and felt horribly embarrassed when he caught her quizzical gaze. Raising his eyebrows at her, he sneered, "You can't possibly—"

Feeling foolish, Hermione looked at the floor rug.

"That isn't what I meant," she said unconvincingly.

"Oh, you are a right pain," he allowed himself to muttered before placing a steady hand on her waist and leading her into the floor.

Hermione fumbled while grasping his long fingered hand with genuine nervousness. Absently following his lead, she felt her stomach flutter as if she were falling through air. It took a few toe stepping repeats before she settled into the crests and troughs of the rhythm.

"My dear," Severus admitted as he swung her into a twirl, "you are an atrocious dancer."

Hermione made an offended face and shot back, "Well, they do say that dance is completely up to the lead."

"They also say the guilty party lays blame first."

He purposely mislead her a step causing her to nearly crash into a bearded wizard beside her. Hermione huffed, "How petty of you!"

During their steps, Hermione was painfully aware of Narcissa Malfoy's venomous gaze on them. She tried to lean in closer so Severus could shield her from the witch, but it did little to counter the uneasiness. He did not seem to mind her infringement of his personal space.

"Severus, can we go soon?" she asked softly into his ear.

He looked down at her with kind eyes and nodded. "Does the company of the Wizarding elite not suite your fancy?"

Hermione glanced around tensely and replied, "I tire of keeping facades. It's all emptiness and I am starting to lose sight of what is truth and what is lies. Everything is at once beautiful but gilded and unreal. I feel as though I'm betraying myself."

"Then let us leave shortly," he whispered back. She could tell he was less adamant about leaving, but was nonetheless relieved by the thought. Hermione rested her head on his shoulder as the music slowed, thankful for his reassuring presence.

"Severus." Ellsworth Selwyn emerged from the crowd, grinning with good humor. He twitched slightly before patting Severus on the back. "Do you think you would permit me the fortune of a dance with your lovely Miss Sanders?"

"I—suppose."

Hermione looked terrified as the tall wizard bowed slightly and took her hand. Despite her discomfort, she put on a brave face and smiled demurely at wizard. He tucked a golden chain into his vest pocket and spun her away into the crowd. It took all of Hermione's concentration to keep up with his smooth footwork.

"Magdalene, is it?" Selwyn mused, "I don't remember the Sanders having a daughter."

Hermione felt her gut tighten. "Not many in England know me, I've lived in Paris for more than ten years now," she explained, not wanting to divulge her secrets.

The handsome wizard narrowed his eyes of indeterminable color. "And what brings the mademoiselle to our fair isle?"

Stiffening at his use of Severus's title for her, Hermione felt bile rise in her throat. In her mind, Severus was the one who laid claim to calling her mademoiselle, and even then, only when he was older than her.

"I suppose you can say one does become homesick after a while."

Selwyn threw her expertly and held her close against him when she returned. He clenched her by the small of her back and whispered dangerously, "Don't play games with me, witch. These people might be easily fooled by your lies, but I am not. It's been many years, but my memory is seldom inaccurate."

"I don't know what..."

Hermione felt a probing sensation into her mind and tried desperately to keep the prying will out. Before she could close her mind, she felt a few pieces of her childhood slip out. Camping with her parents, going to primary school, receiving her Hogwarts letter, it all rushed out. Selwyn forcefully shoved her away with a look of disgust on his face. His heavy jaw was set in a bite that made Hermione think he was grinding his teeth.

"A Mudblood—" he hissed, wiping his hands on his dark grey robes as if they had touched something dirty. Suddenly, his demeanor flipped to that of his previous good cheer. Hermione turned to see that Severus had returned behind her.

"A pleasure, Miss Sanders." He politely bowed, acting perfectly courteous. He turned to the dark haired wizard and put on a charming smile. "Severus, you must come see what I've brought from back from Sicily," he said as he put an arm around the man and pulled him toward the elegant staircase. Severus gave Hermione an apologetic look before allowing himself to be whisked away. She summoned a glass of wine and took a large gulp to help hide her fear.

Retreating to a corner, she sat down on an intricate armchair close to Lucius, who was now speaking in hushed tones with an elder wizard. To her annoyance, she could not find a moment of quiet. Narcissa suddenly appeared out of nowhere and put a delicate hand on Hermione's shoulder, causing her to visibly flinch. The waif-like witch had traded her wine for a slender pipe.

"I see you have set your eyes on Severus," she said with a biting tone, hooded eyes half closed.

Hermione blinked with surprise. "No, of course not, we're no more than acquaintances really."

Narcissa twisted her lips and smiled condescendingly. Her refined features were haughty and mocking. "Of course," she repeated, swaying slightly from intoxication, "He's absolutely smitten with you though. But so plain—he could to do much better."

"Pardon?" Hermione said in a strained whisper.

Her hostess drew one long drag from the ivory pipe and blew out a stream of sweet choking smoke at Hermione. "He's a clever one—going to be in high places one day. Severus will become Headmaster of Hogwarts, mark my words. He isn't much now, but I always see greatness in the hearts of wizards and I am never wrong. That Rodolphus Lestrange—knew he was a liability from day one." Narcissa slurred the end of her sentence and pressed her red painted lips together.

Struck by the ironic truth of her words, Hermione was taken aback. If only the future were hers to declare to the past. Did she detect a hint of jealousy?

"Perhaps it is you, Madam Malfoy, that has eyes for him," Hermione said shrewdly.

Narcissa gave a little indignant noise and swished her long pipe, sending a thin ribbon of grey smoke up into the air. "Well, he certainly isn't much in the way of looks or resources—regrettably." Hermione recoiled slightly in her seat to avoid the floating wisps.

"Surely appearances are not everything," the younger witch added crossly.

Looking at once lithe and languid, Narcissa gave the impression she was a few degrees from melting into water. She narrowed her eyes and aggressively leaned toward Hermione. "Appearance is of utmost importance! Life is only half as fulfilling if you live it without looking beautiful. Not that I would expect you to understand." Inhaling deeply, she gave a sour expression indicating that their conversation had very much concluded. "You'd best go find him, Magdalene," she warned, "He's never up to any good if Selwyn is around."

Hermione took this opportunity to excuse herself and wander upstairs. Glad to be free of the snobbery and pretension, she took haste steps into the carpeted hallway. The ceiling was lined with gold trim and fixed head to foot with portraits of strict looking wizards. Crystal lighting hovered overhead, casting soft yellow light on every gilded frame. It was a magnificently beautiful house.

Ahead, she heard muffled sounds behind closed doors and recognized the rough chuckle of Ellsworth Selwyn. Hermione walked toward the door, the fabric of her dress brushing the floor. Another eruption of laughter came from the room and she paused, not wanting to meet the wizard again.

Holding her long flowing skirt above the ankle to prevent rustling, she inched forward a tentative step. The door suddenly burst open with a slam and Severus stumbled out directly into her way looking distinctly disoriented. Mumbling half-hearted apologies, he took her hand and placed a small kiss on the back. Staggering backwards, he then proceeded to pull her along toward the end of the hall. When they stumbled past the open door, she saw Selwyn sitting strangely at an ornate black table with a pile of fine white powder.

He gave her a cruel smirk as they passed.

"It seems to be a merciful evening we have found ourselves occupying after all," he called, voice echoing in waves.

Hermione felt unadulterated revulsion.

Following Severus out of the room's sight, she tried to balance his uneven strides. Glimmering chandelier light caught in his dark eyes as he moved and Hermione saw that his pupils were dilated. He flashed a predatory smile and tugged her into the last room. The chamber was fully glass and shone with starlight and blue reflections of snow. Severus lead her to an open balcony, practically running through the room.

His mannerisms were jumpy and uncharacteristic. The wizard looked at the garden beneath them with an euphoric expression. "Jump with me," he said, breathing heavily. His request was casual as if he had simply asked her on a promenade. Hermione was keenly aware of the hand he had snaked around her waist, pushing her against the railings.

She gaped with disbelief. "You've gone mad! Just what did Selwyn give you in that room back there?"

He raised a hand and dabbed at his hooked nose. Squeezing Hermione's shoulder, he said with deliberate sincerity, "Something to allow me to understand. I stared into the face of form and saw that it was only emptiness. The same is true of feelings, perceptions, impulses, and consciousness. It's all nothing. Old age and treachery—nothing. There is no decay and death, no extinction of decay and death. There is no suffering, no origination, no stopping, no path..."

He continued to ramble on, reciting words he comprehended even less that she did. Deeply worried, Hermione attempted to pull him back from the balcony. Severus only roughly jerked his arm back, looking irrational and frantic. His black eyes were devoid of his usual intellect and control; they were rheumy and glass like.

They saw without understanding.

.

.

* * *

**Notes**

1. This chapter refers heavily to Buddhist ideas(how unexpected!). Saṃsāra is the wheel of life realms. The bit of form and emptiness is from the Heart (of Wisdom) Sutra. Of course one could not expect to understand the enlightenment through artificial and indulgent methods. It is all very fascinating, look it up!

2. If you thought Narcissa seemed oddly reminiscent of Gatsby's Daisy Buchanan, you are very perceptive!

3. Thanks to my beta lilygirl101 and you, dear readers.


	7. Into Forlorn

**Chapter**** 6 - Into Forlorn  
**

.

"Hermione, are you coming? We can't wait any longer..."

The nasal sound of her mother's weepy voice echoed around the staircase. Hermione dried her eyes one last time and dabbed on some heavy concealer to hide the red puffiness under her eyes. Normally she would have used one of the glamour spells Lavender Brown always raved about, but today she was a Muggle and vowed to play the part faithfully. She took the old Polaroid camera on the vanity and snapped a picture of her solemn reflection. Not even waiting to see the picture develop, she grabbed the camera and headed downstairs.

"Oh there you are, sweets. I know this is distressing, but we really must go."

"I know, mum, sorry to keep everyone waiting," she said quietly, eyes downcast.

A row of somber black exited the house and crammed themselves into the tiny vehicle in the drive way. To any onlooker, it would have seemed laughable that they expected to all fit. Hermione, being the smallest, was elected to sit in the nonexistent middle backseat. She was bent stiffly holding the camera, feet turned inward around the hump on the car floor and left elbow awkwardly pressed into her Uncle David's side.

The portly man grumbled, "Remind me why we have to squeeze like this again?"

"David, you know how little parking there is at the mortuary," Hermione's mother replied.

Seemingly satisfied with the answer, Uncle David scratched his bushy brown beard and leaned toward the window attempting to wedge himself in a more comfortable position.

Hermione sniffled at an itch in her nose, which her mother mistook as a sign that she was breaking into tears. The older woman swung her head around and said reassuringly, "Oh Hermione, don't cry again. Gran's in a better place now..."

"I'm not going to cry, mum."

"Well that's a relief. I was going to start feeding you Valium if you were. Is that a camera? Bringing a camera to a funeral is quite unfitting. You must leave it in the car!" The woman's voice was slightly shrill.

Hermione held the camera up and snapped a picture of her mother looking annoyed. There was something about her parents that always made her revert to acting rather juvenile around them. She flipped the square little picture in the air for a bit and held it up to her mother saying, "It really captures your eyes."

They were so unlike, her grandmother and the rest of her family. She was an angel made of a type of magic that no witch or wizard could capture and they were all mere mortals. Her magic was sort of like the wavering beauty of a Monet painting. She could make anything grow with a touch of her hand; her garden burgeoned. The irises were Hermione's favorite—tall ruched petals of the brightest blue, shot with silver strands. She always asked her grandmother for her secrets, but the old woman only ever smiled mysteriously.

But her house had long been sold and the garden plowed over by the new owners.

"Give it here! A camera, Hermione, really. How inappropriate!"

The young witch extended the camera forward toward her mother. The strap was still on her neck and she pulled it over her bushy hair. As the fuzzing polyester ribbon was becoming untangled with her hair, it tugged on the golden hourglass tucked into her dress and Hermione felt the gear click.

"Oh no."

She could hear her family yelling incoherently as the time turner took her away. Their alarmed voices rang in her head as she found herself standing in a field. The air was warm, humid, and smelled sweet like summer. Infinitely dense layers of insect sounds resonated around her in a thick veil like echos meant to be seen. A faint black figure was moving toward her from afar. She didn't have to see his face to know who it was. It was always him.

.

"_Sometimes __alone __is __the __most __free __we__'__ll __ever __be__."_

.

1984: Severus is 24

When he came close, she held up the camera to take a picture only to see his wand pointed at her through the viewing box. His taut features had a few etched lines, giving him a permanent look of moroseness. She thought he looked older than her. And his hair! It was short (short for him anyway), falling just below his ears. There was a swagger in his attitude that said that today he was quite untroubled.

"Don't you dare take a photo of me! Or I will hex you back to where you came from" he threatened.

"Why not?"

"My modeling agent says it's bad for my career."

Hermione laughed and put the Polaroid back around her neck. The camera felt heavy on her in the humid air.

"You're dressed like a Muggle," he said with a mix of curiosity and disdain.

The moral righteousness in Hermione came out. "And what is wrong with Muggle clothing?"

"It's—unexpected."

"I was on my way to my grandmother's funeral. She's a Muggle, you see. Does that completely change your view of me?"

The pale wizard eyed her strangely and said, "No—a Muggle—I suppose this is when I say I'm sorry for your loss." He knew better than to make the same mistake twice.

Playing with the waist-high summer grass, Hermione refused to meet his eyes. She didn't know what to say. It wasn't as if she did not expect his silent prejudice; she knew of his darkness and demons. Yet some part of her had wanted to believe him better than he was. A tear slid down her face, burning a singular hot path on her cheek. Quickly wiping it away with the back of her hand, she looked at her friend and whispered, "I'm sorry I'm a mess today."

"It's alright. It's July 15, 1984 and we are—ah—nowhere. Delightfully stimulating, isn't it?"

Hermione laughed through her tears at his formality. "And do tell, why are we in the middle of nowhere?"

Severus shrugged, "Just curious."

"About what?"

"Obviously, what the middle of nowhere looks like," He spelled out as if she were one of his more dim-witted students.

Truthfully, he was curious yes, but more about their meeting than the location. Sometimes the list specified where he would encounter her, sometimes it did not. The one time he had sought to avoid the indicated location, he had ended up there anyway. He often wondered if her magic was drawn to him or if his was drawn to her. It seemed that both and yet neither were true, defying all logic. Her Time Turner's magic was something untrappable by spells and enchantments, much less reason. He didn't much enjoy Arithmancy and therefore could never understand her babbling, but his knowledge of magic could not explain it. It was a strange type of irrational witchery.

He took her to the edge of the field, slowly wading through the tall grass. Hermione's heels sank into the dirt and the grass blades snagged at her hosiery as she moved but she could care less; she hated her funeral clothes. The field ended abruptly in a cliff over looking lush farmland down below. She drew in a long breath and ran her fingers through her hair. There was still beauty in the world after all.

In this moment, she was desperately thankful for his company. Without him, the desolate silence of nowhere would have terrified her.

"You know—I'm dreadfully frightened of being alone," she confessed.

Severus considered her statement briefly and sneered, "How pedestrian of a fear."

A flash of anger crossed Hermione's face. How dare he make fun of her when she was opening up her heart. "I take it you're quite used to spending quality time with yourself then, seeing as you are just overflowing with friends," she said, voice dripping with mean-spirited sarcasm.

It did not faze her companion a bit. He regarded her calmly. "I'll have you know I very much enjoy my quality time with myself, as you put it. Being with my peace and solitude is far superior to being with the mindless masses."

"Then you're just fooling yourself," she returned. "People are social creatures; it's a documented fact."

Severus shook his head at her snidely, as if he thought his answer was far superior to hers. "If you fear being alone, then your mind is weak. You must be patient. One learns to covet the freedom being a single mind in a single body affords. You grow to stop obsessing over where others are and why they aren't with you," he told her, then added, "If you are at peace with your mind, then alone is alright."

"But don't you ever feel lonely?" She wrinkled her brow in protest.

The sallow faced man turned to face the open sky. This time, his voice was much kinder and his words much softer. "You mustn't run from it. Sometimes being alone is the penance we must pay. I bear with my loneliness now so that I may keep future loneliness at bay."

With that declaration, Hermione came to understand something about Severus Snape she had never thought before: underneath all of his cruelty and acerbity, he was just an intrinsically lonely man trying to face his own frailty. She wanted to tell him that, she too, was a lonely soul escaped out of the purgatory that was war.

"Surely you must be able to forget your heartbreak."

Severus raised an eyebrow, but made no objections sensing her momentary composure was fragile.

"And what of your own heartbreak?"

"Well...I don't really miss my Gran; we hadn't spoken for years. I'm mostly upset at the idea of her death, I think. There was a war and so many I loved died." Hermione noted a sudden sadness in his eyes upon hearing this. "Losing her sort of brought it all back. I wish I had something to remember her by; she had this other worldly garden with the most unbelievable flowers..." She could almost see the echo of their exquisite allure.

"Is she alive now?"

Had he not been listening after all?

"What do you mean?"

Severus rolled his eyes at her, "Blind me with your brilliance, won't you. Is she alive in 1984?"

"Well," Hermione was hesitant, "I suppose she is."

"Magdalene, I thought you were the clever one. Instead of standing around crying, why don't you just go and dig up some of her flowers now and replant them somewhere you can find in the future?" he said shortly, as if it were plain as day.

"Perhaps...but twen..." she stopped herself. It was most likely not a good idea to let him know exactly when in the future she was from. In fact, she could think of a number of reasons why it was a dreadful one and scolded herself to almost giving it up. Turning to him, she asked calmly, "Isn't summer a terrible time to plant things?"

He coolly replied, "Only April is the cruelest month."

"What if they're don't survive the years?"

Shaking his head, he folded his arms and looked at her pointedly, "And what if it rains today? What if you splinch yourself Apparating?"

"I can Apparate perfectly fine, thank you," she said tensely.

"Then go."

"But—that is—will you please go with me then?"

"You want me to go trespass and steal? Oh I see, make Severus Snape be the criminal." He pretended to react incredulously, leaning back and giving her a bewildered look for the full effect.

Hermione pouted, "You're already so dour, adding criminal to your repertoire wouldn't ruin your reputation at all!"

"Such kind words, Madge. You really are after my heart," he smirked.

The witch shoved him away in mock frustration and giggled, "Oh I don't know how I stand you."

Severus tried to wink at her but only succeeded in blinking with a sour expression. The absurdity of Snape, even as a young wizard, trying to wink made Hermione burst into laughter—if only Harry Potter were to see this.

"So will you go with me?"

"You're lost your mind."

"Absolutely."

The wizard stared at her in silence and her heart sank, he was going to refuse. Obviously he was going to refuse, he was just that type of man. Instead, to her dismay, Severus bowed to her courteously and offered a slender hand as if to ask her to dance, "Shall we go then? Show the way, mademoiselle."

"Hang on to your breath, I always hate this part." She placed her hand in his and held it tightly, careful to not lose him during apparition. It occurred to her that his hand was unexpectedly solid beneath hers while others' were the consistency of slippery silk during relocation.

They appeared with a pop by a wooden fence in the middle of large hydrangea bush. Feet tangled in its woody undergrowth, Hermione fell down into the adjacent fire-colored poppies with a small shriek. Completely contrary to her entrance, her companion stepped out of the bush graceful as a cat and pulled her to her feet. She watched him enviously as his long black robes barely caught in the twigs when he moved as he raised his arms to cast a disillusion charm.

"I trust you are unhurt," he sighed dramatically. "It looks as though those poppies are tragically disfigured. I do hope your grandmother is magical enough to fix them."

The witch covered face and muttered, "I am so mortified! I promise you my apparition skills are far superior to this usually. I'm a very capable witch, I swear!"

Dusting off their robes, the pair walked out of the flower bed and peeked around the garden. No movements in sight. Severus whispered to Hermione, breath brushing her ear, "Well? Which ones did you want?"

His low voice was so close that she could almost feel it carrying in her thundering heartbeats. Carefully, she pointed at the crisp blue irises, a small melancholy smile on her lips. Leaving her side, Severus walked over, wand out, preparing to remove a large rhizome bundle of the plants. But before he could speak a spell, she suddenly whisper-shouted for him to stop.

"This is going to sound terrible, but I just can't bring myself to blatantly steal like this. Perhaps we can go ask for them?"

The dark haired wizard cast a weary look her way. "I cannot believe you would try to waste my time like this. What are we going to say? Hello, madame Muggle, your dimwit of a granddaughter and I have just broken into your property, but don't be alarmed, we're only here for your flowers," he said mockingly, "Don't be such a prat. You're here, you're going take it, and you're going to like it!"

"Oh...fine." She relented. Hermione stepped forward and nervously fiddled with her camera strap as she watched him cut out the bundle. "Don't you need to keep more roots than that? How do you know it'll survive?"

"It's touching how much faith you have in me. I'll have you know my green thumb is legendary. Make yourself useful and prepare a bag, won't you?" While she transfigured up a bag from a rock nearby, Severus pulled the plants out delicately with a flick of his wand. Shaking the dirt off, he floated the precious flowers into her bag.

The witch smiled broadly at their stolen prize and said, "I just want to say thank..." Her words were cut short as he placed a hand on her mouth and roughly pulled her down to hide behind a big flowery bush. His movements were so fast that Hermione could barely register what happened.

Sound of sandals shuffling on wood drifted by; someone was coming and Severus's constant vigilance had not been wasted. An older woman in linen pants and a gauzy shirt came out of the back door. The Muggle woman glanced around the yard, disturbed by the rustling earlier. Severus reached for his wand but Hermione stopped him. Instead, she brought up the camera hanging from her neck and snapped a picture of the woman. The clicking sound of the camera gears drew her attention to them, but before they could be fully seen, Severus grabbed Hermione's arm and Apparated them away.

This second Apparation was far smoother than the first and landed them on a river bank of sorts. Upon further observation, it rather seemed that they were on the edge of a small island. Calm river water was a muddy blue green gleaming in the summer sun.

"That was far too careless of you!" he lectured.

"It's alright, she wouldn't have hurt us. Where are we anyway?" Hermione tucked the Polaroid picture into her dress pocket and turned to Severus, slightly disoriented.

He let out an annoyed noise and motioned for her to sit down, hoping it would ease her discomfort. When she was no longer on her unsteady feet, he explained, "We're on Penton Hook Island in the River Thames. Charming isn't it? This whole area used to belong to my family before they squandered their wealth. We can plant your flowers, no one's going to come steal them here."

Hermione nodded and peeled the transfigured bag back, exposing the stolen flowers. "Do you come here often?" she ventured.

"Yes. It's..." he hesitated, not wanting to give his true reasons, "No one to pester me here."

What he did not tell her was that this place infuriated him, it had been the spark which lit the fire for his ambition, told him that he was more than just a half-blood wizard. A young idealist, he had thought that a war on blood was the answer. His mother tried to quiet his heart, saying that it happened before his time, that they were meant to start again. But it was a philosophy he mistakenly refused to accept. He had thought that he was a Prince, far more than just his father's son, that one day he could take it all back. Yet instead of gaining back aristocratic status, Severus had became the very thing he hated, a heartless and bitter man just as his father had been.

A swish of his ebony wand removed the fabric altogether. Hermione was surprised that he put his wand aside and undertook the planting process without magic. She offered to help since burying the plants was a more involved and laborious process than digging them up, but he refused, insisting she would just cause him more work. Defeated, she could only sit and watch Severus painstakingly carve out a portion of the bank, separate the rhizome bases, and plant them each individually. His grace was not lost, even while his hands were immersed in muddy soil.

When he finished, she slipped her wand out of the inside sea-loop of her funeral dress and muttered a cleaning charm on him. The charm, it seemed, was a little too powerful, cleaning his greasy hair in the process, making Hermione bite back a giggle. Her gesture was received with a polite nod.

"Come and sit, Severus. You must be tired."

Before getting to his feet, Severus ran his fingers up the stalk of one iris and the top burst open in a flash of silvery blue. Plucking it from the bunch, he held it delicately between his fingers. Despite having seen many types of magic, Hermione couldn't help but be astonished. It was the same as the ones he had given her at Malfoy Manor.

"How?"

"Plants live by touch. They see beneath the surface of things." he gave her a small mysterious smile and gathered his light robes, stumbling over to lay down on the grass and handing her the flower in one smooth motion. "I trust my work is satisfactory," he said with a tired sigh.

"Quite," she quickly assured, turning the flower in her hands, still stunned by his trick, "It was wonderful of you to do this, you really didn't have to. I'm actually quite surprised that you agreed—why did you?"

Reclined and relaxed, he simply shrugged nonchalantly with eyes closed, "You asked kindly."

Surely there was more to it. "Well whatever the reason, you have my gratitude."

Severus propped himself up on his elbows and inspected her for a moment. His gaze was on her soft features and he seemed to be contemplating a long and recurrent thought. "Can I make an inquiry?" he said sharply.

Taken aback by the sudden seriousness, Hermione blinked and nodded dumbly.

"Do you speak to me in the future? My future self, that is."

A frown appeared on Hermione's face. "We're—hardly acquaintances then."

The man rolled onto his side to look at her more intently. "So we are in the same time frame after all," he said amused.

Hermione kicked herself for letting it slip. She leaned back and refused to comment further.

"Why do we not speak? Surely I must recognize you," he pressed.

"I only know _of_ you, we're not acquainted personally," she replied simply.

"And you do not seek me?"

Shaking her head with determination, she responded, "It isn't like that!"

Unsatisfied with the answer but unwilling to reveal himself, Severus could only remain silent. Certain as tides, he knew he would always search for her with all of his power, even if he were a greying old man and she only a small girl. There was a hypothesis that had nagged at him for years. It made him fear the worst.

"What happens to me in the future?"

"Well, you take me to Malfoy Manor for their Yule party in 1988 and—"

Impatient, he tilted his head to face her directly and insisted, "No, in the far future! It's the least you could give me for my labors. Does the Dark Lord return? Will he punish me for deserting him? Do I—die before I am able to meet you?"

"Severus...please don't..." she begged, trying not to betray her distress at his guess coming so close to the truth. She thought of his tarnished memory written by the likes of Rita Skeeter. It broke her heart that the young melancholy wizard before her would die a cold and harshly bitter man that even she herself disliked. But fate knew no sympathy, and that was just the heart of things, was it not?

Picking up her camera again, she held the little window to her eye, only to see his hand outstretched to block the lens.

"This is obnoxious, Magdalene."

"Please, just one. It's a Muggle camera, there'll only ever be one copy!" she pleaded.

Letting out a purposely loud and aggravated sigh, he lowered his hand and looked straight into the lens. The Polaroid snapped and churned out its square photograph. Severus grabbed it and turned it back and forth, looking puzzled.

"It's blank! Muggle things are so worthless," he said with a disgusted tone, "Your usage of them has lowered my opinion of you by several degrees."

Hermione snatched it back and waved it in the air several times saying, "Rubbish, you are far too impatient. It has to develop. Give it time. See? Don't sell Muggles short, their inventions are quite incredible sometimes." She showed him the newly developing picture of him looking decidedly irritated, and slid it into her pocket before he could steal it from her again.

"It does not move?"

"Of course not!"

Smiling, she leaned down and whispered thanks into his ear and placed a small kiss on his cheek. Severus's eyes flew open wide at the touch of her lips and he turned abruptly to face her, questions of the future completely forgotten. The sudden and unexpected closeness of his gaze made Hermione draw in a breath of surprise. Caught between the emotion of terrible discomfort and intense yearning, she did not know what to do.

It felt as though a coveting glance at an unsuspecting object of affection had suddenly been noticed, forcing her to bravely forge forward or retract in denial. She wanted to feel the touch of his skin under her fingertips, the touch of his lips against hers, but couldn't find the courage to move, and it seemed, neither could he. They lingered, staring at one another, both hopelessly frozen.

Hermione closed her eyes hoping it would give one of them the encouragement they needed, but when she opened them again a second later, she was wedged back into her parents' little car, met by alarmed voices all around her. All she could feel was disappointment, because she knew the awful truth inside: that this moment had passed and would never be back. She could spend forever longing for the resolution of that tension between them, but she would never manage to go back and pick up where they left off.

Time did not permit this particular Hermione to meet that particular Severus again.

"Hermione! Just what in God's name happened!" Her mother's yelling shook her out of her daydream. Emotions and tempers were running high today.

"Don't worry mum, just a magical hiccup, that's all. Don't be so worked up."

Her mother was not to be placated by such an irresponsible explanation. "But you just disappeared! We very nearly were in an accident!"

"I promise, it's nothing."

"Oh let it go, we're here!" Her father declared, rescuing his daughter. He always had a soft spot for her and her magic.

Discontent, his wife huffed, "Straighten your dress and take off that camera! All grown up and still like this. Show some respect!"

"Yes, mum" Hermione replied demurely.

They poured out of the automobile when it was sufficiently parked and Hermione immediately excused herself, citing the loo as her destination. Out of her family's sight, she Disapparated with a pop. Upon arrival, the young witch gasped audibly at the sight before her. It was beyond her wildest dreams.

The river bank on Penton Hook Island had been completely overtaken by a sea of brilliant blue irises. Twenty growing seasons had seen them turn from a few stalks into a full field.

She fished out the little Polaroid pictures from her pocket and smiled at the mischievous young man with sallow skin and black hair. He was not handsome, no, but he was memorably striking. A crisp breeze filtered through her curls, tickling her cheeks, reminiscent of his touch.

For the first time in a long time, Hermione was alone without feeling lonely.

* * *

Footnotes:

1. Borrowings from the ever poetic Natsume Soseki (Kokoro), Tanya Davis (How to Be Alone), Francesca Lia Block (Echo), and T.S. Elliot (The Wasteland).


	8. Inevitable

AN: Many thanks for my beta, lilygirl101; And you, for all the wonderful reviews. As I wrote to a reviewer, I've been writing this story on and off for the better part of 4 years now and am incredibly happy to finally share it with you all.**  
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* * *

**Chapter**** 7 – ****Inevitable**

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"_Sometimes __truth __is __unspeakably __ugly__..."_

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1997: Severus is 37.

Warm flames from candles lit the room, casting their orange glow onto all items in the room. Hermione could feel the threads of light spinning through her hair. It was almost her fortieth foray into the past and she had grown accustomed to the sudden changes. She was impeccably prepared for whatever situations she could be in—complete with a purse of everything anyone could possibly need. Before she opened her eyes, she allowed herself to feel the room the way a blind woman might, by aura alone. This place was familiar to her in essence, but not in detail. It smelled of gravity and solace.

Just as her eyelids began to lift, she felt a hand cover her eyes from behind. Her heart skipped a beat from the sudden shock of touch. Smiling widely, she playfully chided, "Don't scare me like that, I know its you, Severus..."

Hermione put her hands to her face and attempted to pry his hand off. He chuckled at her attempt and led her fingers with his free hand to a glass wine on the table beside them. When she had a steady grip on the glass's slender neck, he turned her around and let her vision free. A table carefully arranged with two plates of beautiful food and glistening candles stood in front of her. The perfection of the placement of each item took her breath away. She could tell exactly where the glass in her hand belonged.

"Oh my...what is the date?"

"It is May 29, 1997. We are in my quarters, and it is seven in the evening. What I would like to know is if you would have dinner with me."

Speechless, she turned to him and stammered, "Oh, I've just had breakfast...", but immediately corrected herself. "I mean of course I will! This is positively immaculate, you did this all yourself?"

Severus left her and pulled out one chair for her. His lips curled into an amused smirk and he remarked, "Not a single house elf called upon."

The comment made Hermione laugh. She looked at the glass in her hands and took a sip of the yellow-tinged wine. It was sweet, clear, and made her smile. Watching him light the candles on the table one by one, she took her seat. She studied his face, which was slowly being lit by the igniting flame of each candle. There were many lines in his face and strands of silver at his temples telling his age, but his eyes were still of the same intensity and brilliance she'd always known.

"How have you been, Severus?"

He offered a small smile and replied, "The status quo, futilely attempting to stuff sense into idiots. Children are quite horrible, you know. The only thing motivating for them is fear."

"So you tell me all the time," she laughed. "I'm sure there must be a few worthy of your impossible standards." Secretly, Hermione hoped he would mention her name.

"Not one, imagine that. They're all graceless little bags of shit."

She gave a little frown, more from not hearing her name than from his actual comment. "Couldn't you say the same for most grown wizards?"

"Well they must to have come from somewhere."

Hermione giggled and took a bite of her meal. Unfortunately, Severus was not as good at cooking as he was at presenting food. Forcing a look of delight, she swallowed the dry meat. She had expected that he be an exemplary chef, being so handy at potions and all, but it seemed that the culinary arts were something prone to being lost in translation.

"Education is so strange, you know. What we consider good these days is so different from what was considered good a long time ago. Even the most brilliant of wizards and witches from a thousand years ago would fail our current standards. I can't decide if its because we're smarter now or if we've just changed."

Severus shook his head in disagreement as he put a fork to his plate, "We've gotten impossibly simpler if anything. Wizards used to make everything for themselves. What can you make now? Can you make this plate? Can you make these candles?"

"I can Transfigure it!"

"But will it last?"

"Well, no..."

"My point exactly."

"But I don't have to, I can just buy it," she countered.

"What a simpleton answer. The point is not to belittle the argument but to arrive at an universal understanding intuitively."

The young witch scrunched up her face in spite and rolled her eyes at him. "You're awfully transcendentalist today."

He raised an eyebrow. "I will certainly not be moving into the woods and abandoning all that is modern. At least I'm not a raging chauvinist." Hermione felt rather impressed at his worldly well-read outlook and briefly wondered how a man who hated Muggles found the inspiration to read Muggle literature.

"You know, in my time, there is an elective class called Witch Studies—a discussion of how the role of Wizarding women have changed across the times and their influence to the world. You'll find this quite tickling. Some of the boys are protesting that it's not fair that there's no Wizard Studies to commemorate men."

Severus snorted at this and said, "Complaining? Whatever for? There is already a class on that. I daresay it's called _History_."

Hermione burst out laughing.

"I'll have to remember that."

Looking across the table, she saw him smirking at her. She stared at his eyes and saw them to be not black but clear brown-blue, the color of river water escaping against the flickering candle light.

"How is your work? Are you close to fixing your equations?" He abruptly broke their connection.

Slightly flustered, Hermione gestured jerkily and shoved a piece of roast into her mouth. It tasted even worse than the previous bite. When Severus looked at her intently for an answer, she felt compelled to speak and fervently chewed her morsel only to find that it would not go down any faster. She held up a finger asking him to wait and tried to wash it all down with some wine. The horrid piece of meat finally went down.

"Oh its—" she paused, jaw feeling tired, "It's coming. I've actually just hit a snag. I can't seem to perfectly incorporate the magic element quite right. None of the parameters are relating to it in any sort of mathematical manner."

"What does it mean to relate?"

"Well, you know, like macro state variables. Let's say magic is measurable and it is inversely proportional to energy capacity, which it is of course not."

Severus gave her a strained look, "Inversely proportional to what? Utter rubbish. It might as well be related to the number of hairs on my head! You're thinking like a Muggle."

Hermione felt outrage. How dare he judge when he did not understand? "Well, _professor_, what do you propose?"

He sneered at her annoyance, eager to answer. "You're simply looking at it all wrong. You can't calculate magic; it doesn't follow your axioms."

"What is Arithmancy then?" She interrupted sharply.

"A model for how the world responds to magic, if you are quite finished," he lectured, "It is a model, a mere tool. You can't lift up a rock or wave your wand and find Arithmancy charts. It's a wizard's construct and should be treated as such. Your precious math cannot capture the behavior of magic because math is not intrinsic, it is only rules, and magic does not like to follow rules. There are basic laws of Transfiguration, yes, but even those operate sporadically rather than strictly."

Hermione was on the edge of her seat. As much as she hated to admit, he made a lot of sense.

"Do not try to—finesse magic with your logic. It will not work. With Wizardry, 1+1 is any number you would like it to be. Magic is not elemental; it's irrational. There hardly exists an equation to describe it because it defies our very physical being. You can't bottle or explain magical existence; it's not made of energy or matter. If you could define it, we would be no different than Muggles. The irrational nature of magic is what makes it a gift to wizards alone."

In that moment, she felt nothing but the desire to be in his presence for all time, as if she could not envision a description of happiness without it. Hermione wanted him to speak forever.

"But what is a potion then? Is it not bottled magic?"

"Potions are only as magical as their brewer. They only retain, they cannot give magic." he replied simply.

Hermione leaned forward, eager to continue. "So you think that the key to the time turner isn't the calibration, but it's the user's ability? That hardly seems plausible. I've yet to see a magical object that depends on its user for functionality-the theory's against this one."

His eyes glittered strangely and he tilted his head toward her.

"Ah, I believe we are arriving at the reason why you have not made headway. Magic is not theoretical, it's empirical. We have laws not because we derived them, but because we observed them."

"No, but we have derived them now! They prove that our instincts and observations are in fact trustworthy!" Hermione said excitedly.

Severus shook his head at her and tapped his fork on his plate. "But that is not your problem. Your problem is that you don't know the answer you must prove, and I'm telling you that the answer is in you."

The witch wrinkled her brow, pondering his statement deeply. Her gaze lingered on his hands and she felt her heart swell in fulfillment. He was always this way, inspiring yet irreverent. Beneath that precise sheen, however, lurked a sullen and silent dread that she suddenly noticed when she met his eyes.

There was sadness and fragility in the man she found herself drawn towards. The air instantly reeked of strung-out unease. She glanced down at her plate. It suddenly looked as though the food was arranged very peculiarly...a rectangle of roast in the middle with a tiny bouquet of lavender flowers on top and two rows of black olives and mushrooms on either side. It wasn't a divine looking plate of dinner, it was a funeral.

"Is something the matter?"

Thinking fast, she tried to fit this date into context. June 1997—where was she then? Hermione found her hands shaking beneath the table. Dumbledore's death. Very soon life was going to become much more difficult for the wizard sitting before her. The wit and insanity that she had come to enjoy was nearing its finite limit. It wasn't fair. The realization hit her like a wall and her sudden silence betrayed her thoughts to him.

"No..." she whispered, only audible to herself.

He knew exactly what changed in her demeanor and the truth that prompted it. The atmosphere between them had completely transformed.

Severus raised his glass and Hermione followed politely.

"To our strange and undeniably beautiful journey through time, Mademoiselle."

There was a touch of condescending malice in his voice. She sat motionlessly, unable to speak. It had all been going so well. How did pleasant dinner conversation suddenly devolve to this? Not even the chink of glass against glass made her flinch. Hermione took a drink of the wine and grimaced. It tasted of ashes now.

"Why, it seems my company has become undesirable this evening. Was it something I said?"

She saw it, clear as glass. He knew all along, and was mocking her.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Didn't anyone teach you not to answer a question with one?" he mocked. "Thankfully for you, someone taught me, so I will enlighten you. To be truthful, I was hoping you would notice sooner so we did not have to put up this charade. You need not try to pull the wool over my eyes; I've always known."

A pained look crossed Hermione's face as she set her wine glass down forcefully. The impact rattled the entire table. Her heart racing, she interrupted him, "No! I never lied to you! The future was not mine to tell. How do you tell a man that he will have to experience so much betrayal and so many impossible choices? You cannot! I had to preserve what little happiness you had left."

"Sparing my happiness, how—touching," He sneered cruelly.

"Severus..."

"Does it not seem just the least bit overtly coincidental that we only meet once more? I know what it means. You don't have to run circles with your petty excuses. I don't have long, do I? Tell me the truth for once. Just how much time is left?"

Hermione shook her head. She could feel her tears starting to well up in her eyes. It was getting hard to breathe.

"No..." she managed to croak out, "You will be fine—I promise, you will be fine."

He didn't trust her words for a single second. The flurry of syllables sounded weak even to her.

"I was unaware that I was some ignorant lamb for the sacrifice. Was it, perhaps, for your own convenience? Well, I have some news of interest for you. There are some truths that are obvious enough for even this fool to put together, Miss Granger." His voice was low and dangerous, poised with striking venom.

She drew a sharp breath, shocked at hearing her old title. This was inevitable, her mind whispered.

"Severus, I—" Her eyes could not face him, forced to glance away.

"You what?" he spat out viciously, "Felt the need to lie through your teeth every single time, _Hermione_?"

The witch closed her eyes in despair. Only upon hearing him speak did she realized she had been longing to hear her true name from his lips. But not like this, not with such accusation and hatred.

"Oh this is such a mess," she conceded and felt tears starting to well up in her eyes.

Severus felt a twinge of guilt. He hadn't meant to make her cry—but what had he meant to do? Was this not just a bit of torture to make himself feel better? She certainly deserved it. Searching her face, analyzing every expression, he tried to extract some bit of truth. Just as Hermione glanced up to meet his gaze, he flinched his arm away and hissed in pain.

Her heart sunk when he involuntarily clutched his left forearm with his right hand. It reminded her of just how desperately caught in this war they all were, constantly disrupted, always unable to find stable ground. This was not the way to leave their conversation.

"Don't go, Severus, it's too dangerous," she whispered.

He looked at her coldly. "I would like to be the master of my own fate for once."

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry for it all!" she said pleadingly. "I'm sorry it has to be like this. I—I..."

He stared at her stoically from the doorway, waiting in the waning light.

"I—I'll be here waiting," she muttered.

Severus breathed something akin to a sigh of disappointment and closed the door behind him. A few footsteps followed and he was gone, stealing the room's warmth with him. She clutched her Time Turner with tense fingers, feeling a renewed determination to fix its errors. Hermione couldn't hold back her tears, they were stinging painfully.

They both knew she would be long gone when he returned.

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.

Ron held up a silver Time Turner to his face and inspected it. Upon seeing his reflection in a glass gear, he closed one eye and made a face. The resulting reflection was a squashed-looking version of himself.

"Excellent work, Fawcett!" he exclaimed as he set the Time Turner down on his desk.

"Oh it was nothing; Hermione's notes were frighteningly organized and easy to follow. Those extra pages you gave me really helped," the short curly-haired wizard replied. Ernest Fawcett proceeded to grin widely and lean back in his seat. He gave a upward nod as if to say "I told you I'd do it".

Ron scratched his temple then absently tinkered with the contraption's chain. He seemed to be on the verge of a complaint. Fawcett immediately gave a puzzled look and stiffened.

"Ernie, isn't it supposed to be gold?"

Fawcett relaxed back and gestured absently. "I've found gold to be too malleable. Silver is much stronger and retains the enchantment better?"

Ron raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"You mean it's cheaper."

The small man waved his hands vehemently and corrected, "Better, not cheaper!"

"So I can turn this dial now?" Ron gave a mischievous grin.

Fawcett's blue eyes practically bulged out of their sockets. He lunged forward and put a hand over the Time Turner. "Of course not, Mr. Weasley! You-erm-aren't authorize to test any Department of Mysteries materials. You know, Ministry policy." The skittish wizard stumbled over the last part of his sentence. It was painfully clear he was lying.

Ron snorted in amusement and said, "Well, not to worry Ernie. You'll have at least a week to fix the bugs before I get authorization! You'll do great!"

Fawcett pulled the little machine toward him and laughed nervously.

"How about two weeks?" he suggested.

Ron pretended to ponder it deeply.

"Oh why not, I'll even give you three," he finally said good-naturedly.

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Footnotes:

1. Hermione and Severus's debate over magic theory is, of course, actually a discussion of Quantum Mechanics and Thermodynamics. And yes, they are just as obnoxious in real life as they sound here.

2. It is my firm belief that Severus Snape is one extremely uncultured and crass individual who would never think to pick up a piece of literature, and I promise that him referencing Mr. Thoreau is not the result of grand fanon-derived delusions.


	9. Conflict and Revelations

**Chapter**** 8 - ****Conflict**** and ****Revelations**

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"_I__ tried__, __I__ really __did__."_

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1977: Severus is 17

Hermione found herself at the edge of the Forbidden Forest once again. The leaves on the tall twisted trees were lush and green, shaking with sounds of summer. She gave a big smile and congratulated herself on getting the destination correct. Her hard work incorporating a map into the navigation charm turned out perfectly.

The heartbreaking quarrel that had happened in her last visit shook her deeply and she felt extremely guilty. She resolved to tell Severus that she was Hermione Granger. The thought had kept her up all night, but it seemed the right thing to do. What would he say? That she had no right to keep secrets from him?

A young Severus was walking her way, looking annoyed and scowling. Hermione saw that he was wearing school robes and cursed. Telling a mere boy that she had another name would be nearly meaningless.

"Severus, what is the matter?" Hermione called out as soon as he was within hearing range.

Severus forcefully blasted some shrubbery out of his way as he stalked toward the trees. The violent nature of his spell caused Hermione to step back in alarm.

"Bloody James Potter, always thinks he's the greatest thing to grace the earth. The arrogance—"

"Slow down, Severus. I promise you can vent later, just as soon as you give me the date." Hermione had her wand out, in case she needed to protect herself from his anger.

"Bloody June 5th, 1977," he said hatefully, "It's an abomination!"

Tentatively, Hermione put a hand on his shoulder to calm him. "What is an abomination?" she asked, as kind as she could be. What did one say to a furious teenage boy? She felt horribly unprepared to deal with this, not to mention she was never going to get a word in with him huffing and puffing.

"Lily—"

"Potter?" Hermione automatically filled in the second half then mentally kicked herself directly afterward. She wasn't Harry's mother yet. To her relief, Severus did not seem to notice her meaning.

"Yes, Potter! It's ALWAYS Potter!" Severus proceeded to hiss in a strained voice.

"Calm down, Severus. What's Potter done now?" she said gently.

The angry young man jerked away from her comforting hand and fumed, "Lily's with him, I just know it. They're together all the time now. She doesn't belong with him!"

Hermione wrinkled her nose. Teen angst was her least favorite subject and knowing how obsessive Severus would become, none of her words would do any good. "Why doesn't she? Who says she cannot choose which wizard to date?"

"You don't understand, Madge. She just can't be with him! He'll eventually throw her away because—"

"Because what? Because you don't like him? Isn't that what you want?" Hermione injected. She was never slow to defend a fellow witch when it came to matters of the heart.

Severus kicked the leaves and let out a furious roar. "No! I'd never want to hurt her! Plus, she'll never have me anyway. She can't stand the sight of me."

"And why not?"

He breathed heavily and folded his arms before saying in a low voice, "Lily thinks my interest in the Dark Arts is—unsavory."

Hermione snorted at his reply. So he did understand after all. "Then stop doing it; stop pursuing Dark magic. You aren't going to make her like you if you keep practicing what she hates," the witch pointed out, knowing fully well that he would not listen to her advice.

Severus looked at her incredulously. "Stop? And be at the mercy of people like Potter? Oh, Lily—he'll throw her away like he threw Marlene McKinnon away, I just know it!"

Knowing fully well that James Potter would never cast Lily Evans aside, Hermione chided, "Don't judge others by the actions of their past. You would do well to remember that."

"He'll hurt her!" the young man insisted, looking rather mad.

"You don't know that. Why would he?"

"Because—because—" he seemed to not want to say this next bit, "Because—rich Pureblood Princes marry Pureblood Princesses, the rest of us just marry—each other."

"Oh Severus..." Hermione felt like she'd just swallowed one of the Weasleys' sinister sweets at this admission.

"It's the truth!"

"But it doesn't have to be that way," she said softly. "Nowhere does it say that we do not make our own choices."

"There aren't any choices! We're all just stuck being who we are!" He threw his hands up in defeat.

"That is not true at all, Severus!" Hermione said indignantly, "Status means nothing. I'm quite successful, and I don't come from blood or money."

"I could have told you that," the young wizard said smartly, purposely being difficult.

"Pardon?" She wasn't sure what he referred to, but could hardly mistake the condescending tone.

Severus gestured to her robes. "You don't look or come across as expensive at all. Not like Narcissa Black or—"

"Well Narcissa Black is a pretentious and ill-spirited harpy! She's no better than a well-kept pigeon in a gilded cage that leeches off the work of others. And you can tell her I said that," Hermione blurted out at the mention of the woman. Her bushy hair seemed to stand on their ends due to her sudden outburst. The young wizard raised an eyebrow at her uncharacteristic tantrum. "Forgive me," Hermione breathed slowly, calming herself. "That was unnecessary."

"You know her," he said, curious.

Hermione gave a withering look and remarked, "Everyone knows her."

Severus twisted his face into his signature sneer and declared, "You're jealous of her." He smirked in clear pride of his own powers of deduction when her shocked expression divulged her feelings.

Curling a section of her tangle-prone hair with fidgeting fingers, Hermione sputtered trying to draft a reply. All she came up with was some awkward vehement denial that sounded weak, even to her. Changing the subject, she tried to steer him back to his own issues. To her dismay, he ignored her efforts and continued to ask.

"Does she usurp a position from you?"

She shook her head and sighed, "Severus, let us not speak poorly of people behind their backs."

"Yes, let us speak poorly of them to their faces," he said before scoffing.

Hermione groaned. This was going to be an unpleasant conversation.

Telling him she was Hermione Granger became the last thing on her mind.

.

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September 23, 1993

Sunlight streamed past the grand dusty windows of Hogwarts, warping into puzzles and patterns on the cold stone below. The floor was glossy from centuries of busy feet. There was a small crowd humming around Minerva McGonagall's office on this certain day.

The bright face of Charity Burbage wove in and out, her blonde hair flying into the faces of her colleagues as she tried to wedge herself into the small room. To her credit, the majority of the Hogwarts staff were being rather belligerent about yielding their space. Like a huddled mass shivering of penguins, the professors were all eagerly pushing themselves in such a way that the squat witch somehow always managed to be shuttled to the outside.

She spotted a tall dark figure moving in the hall and yelled shamelessly.

"Severus! Be a darling and come help a friend here!"

Just what she needed, someone unpleasantly sour to part the crowd for her. He regarded her with a look of disdain and sneered, "Touching, Professor Burbage, but last I checked, we were not friends in my book."

"Severus, you scoundrel! You must come see! It's a Time Turner!"

He froze at the mention and spun on his heel. "A Time Turner…" he repeated with a greedy tone of barely withheld curiosity, "from where?"

Charity smiled coyly. "The Ministry has sent one here, for a Gryffindor student! I can't seem to get in to get a look, but I was hoping—"

Severus pushed her aside mid sentence and headed straight into the crowd. Charity gave a small "oof!" of surprise and quickly grabbed the end of his robes to follow him.

"Move aside," he hissed to the other chattering professors and they unwillingly inched aside. Flitwick barely had time to avoid collision with Severus's elbow as he gave an alarmed squeak. The little wizard smoothed his beard in irritation.

"Apologies, apologies," Charity Burbage chirped as she tagged along.

Sure enough, McGonagall and Dumbledore were behind a large desk examining a small golden object. This Time Turner was quite a bit simpler looking than the one he was used to seeing. It only had a single dial and there was no return key.

A nondescript little man from the Ministry with a thick brown mustache was present for the occasion. He clapped excited as Dumbledore turned half a dial and vanished from behind the desk. A second later, gasps and mutters accompanied a few claps of delight as he appeared outside of the crowd.

"Quite a productive trip if I may say so myself," he said merrily. "What an opportune time to use the loo. Sadly, I am ten minutes older than I ought to be—a price indeed."

His comment incited even more excited murmurs.

"Enough, Albus. This is not to be a spectacle. Off with you nosy lot!" McGonagall said tartly, ushering people out of the doorway, much to their disappointment. As most of the professors dispersed, Charity Burbage included, Severus lingered behind.

McGonagall addressed him, "Severus, I had not expected you to partake in such frivolity."

He nodded curtly. "I must admit that my curiosity clouds my better judgment at times."

Cheerful and sparkling blue robed, Dumbledore strode in and patted him on the back. The old wizard gave a kind smile and said, "Top of the morning, Severus! Stop your fussing, Minerva, let him stay. I'm sure Miss Granger would benefit from your words of wisdom, Severus."

That's the recipient of the Time Turner? Severus groaned, "You mean that insufferable—" he stopped upon seeing McGonagall's glare and tightly pursed lips and amended, "Deeply and delightfully—engaging—young lady." The sarcasm in his voice increased tenfold.

"Ah, speak of the devil," Dumbledore laughed, "Miss Granger! We have been eagerly awaiting you!"

A meek and small Hermione peeked out from the doorway. Her bushy brown hair made her seem even smaller. "Good afternoon, Headmaster—sir, Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout, Professor Snape," she offered nervously, voice wavering at his name. "I hope I have not kept you waiting for long." It seemed she was quite rattled, being alone in the presence of so many grownups all at once.

Severus looked on in boredom as the Ministry official was introduced and made terrible small talk. After a few lines, the potions master could tell he was nothing more than a simple errand boy.

"Well, here is a chart of the turn and time conversion. And remember, do not allow you to see yourself, always return to the same location on time, and please direct any inquiries to the Department of Mysteries!" the short man spouted through his mustache, sounding rather like he was speaking around a potato in his mouth.

Hermione Granger thanked him and stared at her Time Turner, fascinated. The scene stirred a distinct sense of unshakable familiarity—an eerie déjà vu. It was not a feeling of uncanny repetition as it was an odd tugging at the corner of the mind. Severus felt as though he were reading a new translation of an old book. The words were different, but the story was the same.

The congratulatory words from Dumbledore, Flitwick, Sprout, and McGonagall were completely shut out as Severus's eyes raced from the girl's hair to her hands to her big smile. He had seen her a million times in the past few years and never paid her particular attention; but now, he was actually _seeing her_.

Dread filled him as his mind swam with a terrible suspicion. No matter what he did, he could not stop staring at her hands and they way they held the little golden Time Turner, with her thumb and middle finger. It was the same, the exact same. And her eyes, the big brown speckled orbs staring with eagerness into his own; they were the final sealing trait.

It was _her_, he was sure.

"Severus? Severus, are you not going to say anything?"

The sharp mellifluous voice of Flitwick startled him out of his realization. The entire room was looking intently at him, waiting for some type of eloquent flattery. But he had none and was not about to cave to their expectations. There was a storm of inscrutable emotion under his well-controlled demeanor.

"Miss Granger—" He almost slipped and addressed her differently. "You must never confuse what was and what will be," he said softly, unsure of whether this was appropriate. The girl was too young to truly master the meaning, but it felt like the right time. He had been no older when he received it himself.

Severus was struck by a sense of resolute completion, almost as if the words had been waiting for this moment his whole life."Time is sometimes strange and so perfectly—circular." His paused here, amused by the sheer irony and truth of that statement. "What will happen has already happened and what is happening now will happen again. That is to say, all events are simultaneously occurring. We have already lived and died as we speak," he spoke slowly, savoring every word as if he too were hearing it for the first time. "We only make the distinction between past, present, and future because we have the memory to do so. Linearity is a creation from the hearts of men. Do not lose yourself in the path or you will break away from this world. And above all, cherish the order of things. It may be tempting to change what already was, but you may find that you yourself will be the very thing that sets it in motion."

His student blinked blankly, unsure of what to make of his words. She could not understand now, but he knew she would eventually. "Um—thank you—sir," she managed to stammer out. The grownups in the room all had similar expressions. Even Dumbledore was silent.

"Good show, Severus, always the philosopher!" the old wizard said at last.

Severus searched Hermione's face for a glimpse of his Mademoiselle but saw only the features of a precocious and overachieving student. This was her, but yet also not her in the slightest bit. How many times had he envisioned the day he would find her as his contemporary? Infinite. Each daydream, he saw himself approaching her at different ages and saying resolutely, "Magdalene, we are meant to live two lifetimes together."

And now he never would realize any of it. Instead, he must bear the thought of her betrayal each and every day he would see this girl in the coming years. She had lied to him. Twenty years he had lived an illusion. Unable to cope with the tumult of emotion, Severus turned and swept out of the office abruptly.

He knew not how to describe what his heart felt; he was all at once furious, disappointed, relieved, pained. With angry steps, he stormed towards the dungeons. Unbeknownst to him, his feet were taking him on a circuitous route cutting by the Astronomy Tower where he would encounter an unexpected guest.

Back in the office, a long, uncomfortable silence followed his unceremonious departure. The occupants all glanced at each other, waiting for someone else to speak first. Young Hermione looked especially petrified. Flitwick turned to McGonagall and shrugged, still speechless. Thankfully, Dumbledore again disrupted the confused looks.

"Well then—"

Everyone let out a long breath, as if a dam had been broken. Sprout shook her head and pronounced that Severus had always been "an impossibly odd boy." Flitwick nodded in agreement and added that he'd always thought the younger wizard to be "a bit of a strange cat." The Ministry official tried to add his own little bit but was silenced before he could get a word out.

McGonagall waved a dismissive hand and defended, "Let it go, he must have a lot on his mind."

Dumbledore flopped his hat toward McGonagall as if to support her take on things. He then raised an arm, showing the way out of McGonagall's office. The first to follow his cue, Hermione stumbled forth, still pale-faced. As she crossed into the door frame, Dumbledore bent down and whispered to her with a wink.

"Don't mind Professor Snape, Miss Granger. I suspect he has merely consumed something unpleasant at breakfast."

Hermione nodded despite having the fluttery feeling it was not the reason at all.

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Footnotes: I've been dying to write this bit ever since the inception of this story. Thanks, beloved readers, and thanks to my beta lilygirl101.


	10. The Darkest Hour

Notes: I'm taking a little longer to write the next parts. In the mean time, go read my other story: Memoire Persistante!**  
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**Chapter**** 9 - ****The**** Darkest**** Hour**

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Pressing her forehead harder against her desk, Hermione tried to let her frustration go. The Time-Turner simply would not accept its new key. She'd stayed up the entire night trying to finagle the new part into the design. Unfortunately, some mechanical error forbade the new metal piece to fit into its intended slot. At this week's department meeting, everyone except Hermione presented some headway in their projects. The Unspeakables had all stared at her, projecting their disapproval silently.

She longed to turn the dial and disappear.

Ernest Fawcett patted her sympathetically on the back when he walked by, a gesture that only served to make Hermione feel worse. She tapped the gold with her untrimmed nails and pondered it again. However, despite her effort, she could not keep her mind on track. All she could think of was that she missed Severus. The past few months felt as though she were constantly sleep-walking through her daytime hours, saving up things to tell him. August melted into November before her very eyes; she stepped out of her flat one morning and was shocked by sudden, unbearable cold.

Severus would most likely laugh at her absent manner. Perhaps he would know how to make the key work; he always liked to boast about his cleverness. Hermione tried to humble him at every turn, yet she couldn't help but believe that he was every bit as clever as he let on.

Hermione tried to suppress a little smile as she twisted the dial slowly. No one in the Time Room seemed to notice her absence.

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"_I__ didn__'__t__ mean__ to__."_

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1981: Severus is 21.

A cold dark floor greeted Hermione as she fell back from having her chair suddenly removed.

The room was silent and dim with only a single shaded window to provide light. The air was dense and resonant. She strode over to the window and peeled aside the shade to see that it was only an enchanted painting. Hermione instantly knew she was in the dungeons of Hogwarts.

Judging from the bookshelves and armchair, this must have been Severus's quarters. She glanced around and felt disappointed that he was not there to greet her. Moving forward, Hermione inspected the rest of the room. The description 'sparse' was too generous; 'minimalist' was far more adept. Severus did not keep anything personal in the room aside from his books. She turned to the bookshelves and ran a finger over the rows of spines. All of the books were either potions texts or spell books. A section to the corner was kept behind frosty glass. It seemed to shake when she put a hand on the sliding knob. Hermione guessed those to be Dark Arts volumes. The very top shelf of this case was, however, kept instead behind clear glass.

Hermione stood on her toes and leaned against the bookcase to get a look at what was on top. There seemed to be twenty or so books. Being too short, she could not make out their titles, but one book was particularly large and jutted out beyond the others.

"_The Little Prince_," she read.

She thought it strange for him to keep a Muggle novel in the midst of spell books. Perhaps it had been from his mother; her name had once been Prince, after all. Baffled, she leaned back; she had not thought he would be the sentimental type. Conjuring a step stool, Hermione tried to read the other titles.

She tilted her head right to read the uneven row of spines. _Epic__ of __Gilgamesh_; _Achievements __in__ Charming_; _Facts__ and __Figures_; _An__ Appraisal__ of__ Magical__ Education __in __Europe_; _Crime __and __Punishment_... Hermione felt puzzled at this odd mix of Magical and Muggle books. The texts neither related to each other enough to be grouped together nor were they expensive enough to warrant protection behind a glass panel.

A soft rustling shook Hermione out of her reverie. She stepped off the stool and walked toward the fireplace where the sound seemed to originate. She heard it again and judged that it was not the fireplace but the door directly adjacent. Nervously, she put a hand on the small brass knob and turned. The door creaked slightly as it opened into an even darker bedroom. It was not until her eyes adjusted to the darkness that Hermione saw the bed and a small stand beside it.

Cautiously, she inched forward with soft steps. It felt rather invasive to snoop around his private living quarters. When she was a meter from the bed, Hermione placed a hand over her mouth to silence her gasp.

Severus was lying in the bed.

Hermione immediately lunged to the bedside, upon seeing that he was not asleep. Severus was completely still with eyes wide open, still dressed with robes, shoes and all. He was messy and unshaven with a persistent frown on his face. Even in the dimness, deep lines of turmoil were visible on his features. She thought he smelled rather rank as well.

"Severus, what has happened?" Hermione inquired softly.

The young wizard turned his head just a fraction to meet her eyes. He seemed to look past her with unfocused eyes.

"Severus," she repeated.

He parted cracked lips and mumbled, "Is it November 4th already? Four days already."

Hermione furrowed her brow. Four days before November 4th was Halloween? Her eyes widened at the realization. Halloween was the fall of Voldemort! She quickly drew up a chair and sat down beside his bed.

"It's over then? You-Know-Who is gone?"

Severus did not move but rather closed his eyes, as if in pain.

He whispered, "Lily. She's gone. Forever, gone."

Lily Potter was his world, Hermione remembered. She let out a sigh and bowed her head. It would not do to leave him on the bed like this. His abysmal state suggested that he had been lying like this for most of those four days.

"I'm sorry."

Gripping his nightstand, she sought to stand and pull him out of bed. Instead of wood, her hand met with a pile of folded parchment. Whispering '_Lumos_', Hermione lit up the pile and saw that they were letters. Just as she was about to pick up one of the notes, another envelope flew from the other room and hit her on the shoulder. She bend down to retrieve the new note instead.

In green ink was spidery writing indicating that it was a memo from Dumbledore. Tearing it open, Hermione saw that it was a summons request. Setting down the newest note on the stand, she ran her wand light over the pile and saw that they were all identical letters from the Headmaster. There must have been nearly forty.

"Severus, you need to get up," she said, putting forth her best gentle yet bossy voice.

The wizard gave her a miserable look. "No."

"You cannot continue like this," she insisted urgently. "Go speak with Professor Dumbledore, he has sent many messages asking for you."

Deep lines on his face etched themselves deeper. Hermione noted that this Severus look far more like her Professor Snape than any she had encountered. "Dumbledore does not care for me," he replied, emotionless. "He detests me, thinks of me as a miserable waste of space. The old crook is so disgusted by me that he can't even come to find me in person. I won't go; he only ever wants to see me when he needs to use me."

"That is not true!" Hermione tried to reason with him. "Don't speak ill of Professor Dumbledore like that. I'm sure he is merely inquiring when you'll return to your classes."

His eyes remained blank, sunken into his gaunt face. "What does it matter? She's gone. It was all my doing; I gave the prophecy. I painted her as a target. And I tried so hard—I even sold my soul, but it wasn't enough. In the end, the Dark Lord didn't spare her and Dumbledore didn't protect her."

Hermione slacked her shoulders in futility; she hated that there was nothing she could do to ease his anguish. Still sitting by his bed, she laid her head down by his arm and moved to grasp his hand.

"The human heart is resilient, peace will find you," she soothed. Hermione knew it was a lie, but desperately wanted it to be true.

"She was all—I've nothing left."

She squeezed his hand affectionately and whispered, "Don't be so defeatist, Severus. You have plenty left—a future, a profession, a marvelous book collection. You still have—me."

"You?" He laughed sardonically and pulled his hand away. "Are you supposed to be a comfort to me?"

Hermione felt her stomach drop.

"Next to her, you are like a common grouse next to a peacock! You are nothing."

"I know you are upset—"

Severus suddenly sat up and grasped at Hermione's robe collar. His eyes were glittering as he said, "I know why you are here! Give me your Time-Turner. I can go back and save her!" He pulled at the pleats of her robes, trying to find the golden object. Hermione grabbed his hand and pushed him off of her roughly.

"Stop this madness," she warned. "My Time-Turner is not here for your personal gain. Lily Potter's death was a tragedy, but it has happened and cannot unhappen."

"Let me save her."

"I sorry, you can't."

Anger was visible on his already stricken features and he could not stop himself from lashing out. "I bet you feel so mighty on your high horse, Madge. Your rules are not my rules; now give me your Time-Turner. I know I can save her!" Severus swung his legs over the side of the bed and made an attempt to grab Hermione again. This time, she stood up and pulled the chair in between them. With a crash, he stumbled into the wooden chair then angrily threw it aside.

"Give it to me!" he demanded, sounding rather deranged.

"No!" Hermione retreated another step.

He growled through gritted teeth. "What are you good for if you can't help me bring her back? You're a torment! Does it please you to toy with me like this? I used to think that we—forget what I used to think. I'm a fool."

"Severus—" Her voice was cautious.

He stared straight into her concerned eyes and said icily, "You're a bloody curse. The one time I need you, you withhold your help. When I don't need you, you never go away. Am I just destined to be forever tortured by wanting what I cannot have and doing what I do not want?"

Hermione stood tensely and replied, "You will do many great things, but you cannot save her. What will you do? Prevent the vanquishing of a Dark wizard? Do you think she will be thankful that you have trapped her in a world where she, a Muggleborn witch, will be treated worse than mud?"

"No!" he countered. "Let me have it. I will—I can—she'll be alive and she can learn to love me."

"Do you honestly think she will fall desperately in love with you when her husband and son lay dead because of you? She will hate you for taking her from those most precious to her."

He trembled at her words and clutched his skull in agony. In a moment of extreme misery, he sank to the ground, unable to stand any longer. Severus knew that she was right.

"I'm sorry it has to be this way," Hermione offered, trying to calm him. She dropped to her knees and pulled the young wizard into a careful embrace.

"You're sorry?" he whispered bitterly. "After everything, you're just sorry? You don't know how I wait for you, summer, spring, I _always _wait. I have to hold my breath for an eternity wondering if today will bring the right Madge who remembers everything. And you're just sorry?"

Hermione tightened her grip on his shoulders.

"Nobody knows. Nobody knows! None of them understand how I suffer. And the worst part is, I can't even bring myself to stop. It's as if I revel in this misery." He wrenched himself sharply from her arms.

Hermione sat frozen, hurt by his venomous words. She folded her empty hands over her knees and said, "I've never asked you to wait—"

Severus did not seem to hear her words at all. "Why have you chosen to imprison me like this?" he mumbled hoarsely, full of spiteful accusation.

"I have chosen nothing!" she stated, unwavering. "Take responsibility for your own actions! You must forgive your own mistakes and continue. The world does not stop because you feel wronged. Grow up, Severus. There are still terrible times ahead and you will be called upon to save us all."

Instead of knocking sense into him, her words only enraged him further. He turned to Hermione with fiercely, defiant eyes ablaze with torment.

"Me. I will save you? WHY? Why ME?" he cried.

Hermione tightened her lips into a thin line. "Because fate has chosen you to rise above your own tragedy."

The young man lifted his head to look up at the ceiling and hissed, "Fate means nothing to me. I wish I had died with her. I don't want to do this anymore—you, this life, I'm tired of it all."

"You are speaking from grief—"

"No, I don't want to see you again," he spat. "It was always you! You did this. You killed her. You destroyed my life. I wish I'd never met you! You are the foulest, and I HATE you!" His furious declaration made Hermione recoil. She backed away from him, shocked by his confession. Excruciating pain radiating out from her chest at the horror of his words. His hands were fists shaking with barely contained rage.

"Severus...I..."

"GET OUT! GET OUT!" he suddenly shrieked.

Hermione did not hesitate to run out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Outside, she could hear his screams of agony as clearly as if she were beside him. They shook the very walls. She leaned back against the door and winced. Under all of his fury, he had meant his words. Hermione couldn't shake his hatred from her mind. She had the dreaded sensation of having committed an unforgivable crime.

Hermione wanted to cry; it felt as though their friendship had been shattered beyond repair.

For a second time, Ernest Fawcett presented the silver Time-Turner to Ron. This time, it seemed to weigh more despite looking the same as it had before. Fawcett sat on the edge of his seat, excitedly explaining what each of the features was and how to use them.

"This here," he said as he pointed to a button on the very top, "It's the navigator. You press it and a map pops up."

The small wizard gave the button a tap and a large piece of parchment sprang forth from no where, unfolding in a spiral pattern. A map of Britain was sketched on the paper faintly in floating lines. A few dots labelled major landmarks such as the Ministry, Hogwarts, and Wizarding Villages.

"I just point, like this," Ron checked before pointing his wand at where he thought the Burrow was located. The paper instantly shrank back into the tiny Time-Turner upon wand contact.

Fawcett licked his lips impatiently. "And this...is the release key. You turn it to go back to the present." He pointed to a small butterfly key at the bottom. It looked similar to the key of a wind-up toy. "And this," the little man continued, barely able to keep his excitement inside, "...this is the dial. You turn it to the year you are going." He quickly added, "There's more!" when Ron put his fingers around the instrument to turn the dial. "The dial does not specify what part of the year, nor any other specifics on where you are going. Hermione's notes say that it is up to the user's will. You'll need to concentrate on who you want to see and where you are going, much like you do in Apparition."

Ron grabbed the silver chain with a huge grin and chuckled, "That sounds like an invitation to try it out if I ever heard one!" He moved around the desk to stand beside the Unspeakable and whipped the chain around them both.

Fawcett looked stricken and frantically grasped at the thin wire, trying to extricate himself. "What are you doing!"

"You didn't think I was going alone, did you?" Ron said plainly.

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	11. Paper Over the Crack

**Chapter**** 10 -** **Paper ****Over**** the**** Crack**

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Hermione stood by a tall blue-cast window, staring out into Canary Wharf.

The city was alive with millions of tiny yellow lights set against black glass. Watching the blinking city lights in front of her and listening to murmurs of Muggles enjoying cocktails behind her, the young woman enveloped herself in her own thoughts. The Attic was one of her favorite places to frequent when she needed a moment away from magic.

She put on her best dress with heels a few centimeters too high, and spent her money purchasing overly expensive drinks just to feel silly. It was in these types of places that she felt mysterious, beautiful, and more than she was. Glancing out at the businessmen and socialites, she savored the feeling of being conscious amongst ignorance, of knowing secrets that these people could only dream about. At the time, she reveled in the ability to break the boundary and be in their world. It reminded her that there was more to the world than the Ministry; there were trade tariffs, royal weddings, investment banking, things that she would have spent an entire life contemplating had she been a Muggle.

"Beautiful, is it not?"

Hermione turned to see who had spoken. A young gentleman in a cool grey suit stood beside her. He had smartly cut black hair and a thin layer of purposeful stubble on his face; it made him feel rugged, no doubt. The man rubbed his chin and grinned at Hermione. "I'm dying for a smoke. Care to join me on the balcony?"

Why not.

She nodded and followed him to the balcony door. The lounge attendant pulled out two large fur coats and draped the smaller one around Hermione's slim shoulders. She muttered her thanks and stepped into the cold November air. Her acquaintance offered her a cigarette and she took it between her fingers as she'd seen the young people of London often do. He lit it for her with a silver lighter that he flicked back and forth before lighting his own, as if trying to flash it about.

Hermione took a breath in through the cigarette and felt her lungs fill with arid choking smoke. Unable to control her impulses, she coughed. It felt like drowning. The man looked at her strangely as he twisted his cigarette expertly between his fingers.

"It's been a while," Hermione lied.

Bracing herself, she took a smaller breath, careful to hold the smoke in her mouth instead of actually breathing. Beside her, the black-haired man leaned on the railings and held his cigarette to his lips. Hermione watched the tip crackled bright red as he drew air.

"I'm Tom," the man said as he extended his hand. His voice was rich and low, smooth enough to be cut with a dull knife.

Hermione shook it lightly and replied, "Hello, Tom."

She watched as the thin trail of emitted grey from her own cigarette rose into darkness. Ash scattered everywhere as she turned the cigarette back to take another drag. This time, she allowed the smoke to cloud into her lungs. It did nothing to warm her. But each time she breathed, a sweet indescribable embrace filled her chest and she felt just a bit less awful inside.

"No name?" Tom inquired, amused.

"Not tonight," she answered, not feeling like Hermione at all.

"And what is a lovely lady doing standing here alone?"

Hermione flicked her shadowed eyes to him and said tersely, "Enjoying the silence."

The slim man leaned against the railing, sunken eyes surveying her. He toyed with his cigarette, and the corners of his lips twitched upward mysteriously. "It would seem that you already have someone," he suggested.

Hermione averted her gaze and countered, "I, in fact, do not."

Tom smirked and leaned toward her. His mocking tone was frighteningly reminiscent of Severus. "Your guilt would say otherwise."

She looked up with angry eyes and hissed, "You should not presume to know me." Slightly flustered and upset, Hermione stubbed out her cigarette on the railing and stomped her way back indoors. She threw the fur coat off, tossed the crinkled filter into the trash, and headed for the lavatory.

Standing in front of a blue oriental style sink, she glanced in the mirror. A sad girl in too much makeup stared back. Hermione barely recognized her. Tom had been right, she did look guilty; it was all over her face. But contrary to his conclusions, she was guilty for more than a petty act of adultery.

Severus hated her. His voice rang in her head every time she closed her eyes. Those words were forged in clouding grief and fury, but she knew he'd meant every syllable. And he had every right to mean them. Magdalene Sanders had been selfish, traveling back to disrupt his life. Too many times she had used to the Time-Turner to see him rather than to test any improvements. And now she was destined to cause misfortune. No amount of thought could misplace the dread that she was to do something terrible.

Hermione took the little contraption out of her purse and thought about dropping it down the sink. She dangled the Time-Turner above the drain. If she never used it again, she could do no harm. Rewind, to the day of his trial. Hermione saw his gaunt face and empty expression. What she would do, it was the reason he refused to acknowledge her, even as she screamed. But he had forgiven her, hadn't he? Fast forward, to the day he had met her in the field; nowhere, he had claimed. His touch was gentle then, unsullied by tangled despair. He had forgiven her by then.

Perhaps she was to make reparations. Yes, that was it. And she knew exactly how. She pulled back the Time-Turner excitedly. It was stupid and over-dramatic of her to think of throwing it away.

In a frenzy, Hermione Apparated to the London Library. The Library was completely dark when Hermione popped into some stacks. Making her way to the periodicals section, she got on one of the computers and turned it on. A few hours of trial and error learning of the computers, Hermione finally figured out how to use the search system. It seemed quite magical to her. She searched tirelessly and read articles detailing every single London Lotto from 1970 onwards. The Muggle lottery was far more profitable than the _Daily__ Prophet_'s measly drawing which gave only 700 Galleons. When she reached the year 1983, she could not believe her eyes.

In bold letters were the words: "March 11, Lotto winner Severus Snape earns £1m." She briefly wondered why she'd never seen any indication of his wealth. Though that was not altogether true, his robes were always quite impeccable...

Quickly writing down the winning numbers, she prepared herself to meet Severus. Hermione would show him that she could bring him good fortune too. She gathered her things about her and turned the gold dial without pointing out the map. This was the first time she felt fully prepared to see him. She knew he would be twenty-three.

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"_Fortune__ ease __the __guilt __of__ things __to __come__."_

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1974: Severus is 14.

Hermione appeared on the heavily litter-ridden banks of a small muddy river. The summer sun was harsh and burning, forcing her to shield her eyes. The hot air was humid with rank sewage and the promise of English summer rain. She pushed off her thick cardigan to keep from overheating and shoved it into her tiny purse with much difficulty. Barely able to keep her balance on the river rocks and garbage, she traded her high heels for a steady pair of flats. After some struggle, she finally emerged from the dirty banks to a familiar sight of box-like row houses.

In broad daylight, the identical houses looked less like a gloomy labyrinth and more like a lively community. There were people on bicycles carrying parcels and the sound of wives cooking lunch. A group of small children were even playing jump rope by one house. Hermione stumbled down the gridded streets, her bright blue chiffon dress and styling drawing many curious glances.

The witch continued walking despite feeling as though she were going in circles.

When Hermione was sure she'd passed a house with crumbling corner bricks for the third time, she turned to look for the street sign but saw a thin boy in shabby clothing running down the street dangling a bulging bag on his arm.

"Severus?" she yelled.

The boy spun around, almost falling over from the centripetal momentum generated the heavy plastic bag. His lanky hair hung in his eyes and were almost dreading up from the lack of care and the moist atmosphere. Hermione walked toward him, feeling thoroughly confused. Wasn't he supposed to be twenty-three?

Young Severus watched her excitedly. "Madge! July 19th, 1974!" he shouted, "Will you help me carry this? I can't use—" When Hermione was beside him, he cupped a hand around his lips and whispered the rest. "You know—magic. Hogwarts is on the holiday."

"Sure," she muttered back, rather reserved. Looking around for wandering Muggle eyes, she carefully levitated the bag so Severus could pretend to hold it. Her heart felt ill at the sight of him.

As if able to sense her befuddlement, he asked, "Is something wrong?"

"Oh!" Hermione jumped at his perceptive inquiry. "No! I was just—expecting—um …" She stopped herself from divulging her reasons. He was a child for god-sakes, perhaps she should try again. Pulling the Time-Turner out of her pocket, she tried to turn the dial again. The gold gear refused to turn again. Hermione sighed; it was worth a try.

Severus leaned over to peek at the Time-Turner in her hands. When he thought Hermione was not vigilant, he made a grab for it. To his surprise, she was much faster than he anticipated and slapped his hand away. He scowled at having been caught.

"Severus!" she screeched. "Don't touch that!"

The young man rolled his eyes and imitated her words while putting his hands on his hips in parody.

"Hey!"

"What?" he answered, hardly phased.

"That was not kind," Hermione quipped while giving him a good-natured shove. Severus dodged it, skidding on the concrete. He then squinted up at the hazy sun and made a face. The midday glare was as hot as an oven.

"Save it, I'm melting here. Come on, we've got to run. I've got to get this food home, or Mum is going lecture me until I'm deaf."

The witch contemplated the problem. It seemed foolish to not help. "How far is your house?"

"A few more streets, then a turn, then another turn, then a few—"

"Merlin," Hermione uttered. "Here, take my hand, I'll Apparate you home."

Severus looked mildly uncomfortable. He twisted the plastic bag by spinning it and said with a saucy attitude, "I am not going to hold your hand."

"You little snot!" she exclaimed in response. The black-haired boy seemed rather pleased and humored with himself. Hermione slapped him on the back and Apparated without warning. Magical transit was quite rough for the unprepared, and Severus fell backwards onto pavement as soon as they arrived at beside of his house. His bag floated in midair as Hermione levitated it to prevent his goods from also crashing.

The youth sat up and rubbed his bruised parts. He gave Hermione a dirty look and grumbled, "Someone isn't spiteful at all."

Smirking at his annoyed expression, Hermione offered a hand. Severus gladly took it and was pulled upward with surprising strength. He took the bag with a frown and headed for the door.

"Wait for me." he shot over his shoulder.

In his absence, Hermione noted that it was unbearably hot even in the shadow of the house. She wiped sweat off of her nose and pulled her hair up. At this rate, she'd ruin her dress. Salt and sweat were merciless consumers of fine fabrics. It was a good quarter hour before Severus emerged from the front door. His eyes were shadowy when he shut the door behind him.

Wiping her forehead with a handkerchief, Hermione asked, "Was your mum angry with you?"

"No," he replied slowly and unhappily. "She's been—she's just in a state again."

While dumping the white handkerchief into her purse, she strode toward the skinny boy. She reached up and tussled his unkempt hair, smiling fondly. "Come, Severus, let me cheer you up."

He knocked her hand aside and looked annoyed. "What do you have in mind?" he inquired, suspicious of her.

"Do you trust me?"

He narrowed his eyes in paranoia, but eventually nodded.

"Take my arm; I _promise_ you'll like it." She emphasized the 'promise' hoping he would give his faith.

"Are you taking me to the future?"

"Well no, but I promise it's at least half as exciting!"

"We're going to meet someone important, aren't we?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Severus ..."

"That's it, isn't it!"

"Shut up."

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Two people popped into existence behind several rows of pink, bloom laden rosebushes. One was a short, thin man with a mop of brown hair. He seemed ready to faint upon opening his downward slanting eyelids and gripped his companion's arm for support. The other man gave him a disgusted and annoyed look. This second wizard was nearly two heads taller and sported bright orange hair.

"Oh Merlin, Ron, this goes against every Ministry rule I know!" the shorter man sputtered nervously.

Ron patted the man's shoulder impatiently and groaned, "Don't be a toad now, Ernie."

They crouched in the rosebushes, wands out. Ernie looked beyond terrified and was trying to regulate his breathing and prevent from hyperventilating. Ron paid him little attention and was surveying their surroundings. He craned his neck to see beyond the leafy twigs and pink flowers. They were in the corner of a well kept yard full of late summer flowers just outside of a rickety, leaning house. Ron knew this place the instant he laid eyes on the scene; it was the Burrow.

"I could loose my job for this," Ernie protested, lines forming between his eyebrows.

"Put a lid on it. I'll see that no one takes your job." Ron cast a disillusion charm on them as he stuck his head through the rose bush. He winched as a thorn scratched his ear. The shorter wizard merely crouched lower behind the bush and sulked.

Voices came from the house, and Ron angled his face to get a better look.

Two identical young boys with equally bright red hair strode out of the house. They were no more than twelve, and each sported a plain grey shirt and dirty pants. They pushed a strange metal contraption between them. Ron grinned at the sight. He remembered this day with his brothers.

"Say, Fred, you reckon this thing actually works?" one of the boys asked.

The other boy, Fred, scratched his head and gave a shrug. "Well, George, I have minimal expectations."

George laid the machine on the grass and pulled a knob connected to a long string. The machine sputtered into life, running across the grass in a twitchy motion. A trail of clipped grass sprayed everywhere and the twins covered their faces to protect their eyes. A terrible scent of burning rubber filled the air. Fred chased the mower several circles around the yard before finally shutting it off.

"That was dreadful," George said.

Fred gave him a sympathetic nod. "Smells like something died. Are you thinking what I am?"

George gave a wicked smile and ran into the house. A moment later, a third red-haired boy emerged with them. Ron held his breath as he saw himself walking into the yard. Young Ron Weasley was a full head shorter than his brothers but looked bright and eager.

"Ron, you really need to ride this thing. Fred and I have both had a turn and it's the best thing we've done in days."

The boy looked at the two with distrustful eyes and wrinkled his nose. "It smells odd."

"It's a dream," Fred assured him.

Behind the rosebush, Ernie tried to pull Ron back. Ron blindly waved his right hand and succeeded in smacking the other wizard in the face. The bush rustled and all three boys turned to it. George narrowed his eyes at where Ron's invisible face was. Ernie was continuing to fight his hand.

"Is it just me, or is that an orange flower on Mum's pink rosebush?"

Ron cursed mentally. The charm was not hiding as well as he'd hoped.

"Looks sort of like the color of your hair, George," the younger Ron suggested.

The twins both laughed, and Fred joked, "It's a true Weasley bush —"

"—turning orange, it is," George added.

Ernie was fiercely tugging on Ron robes now. He gave a little yelp and forcefully pulled Ron back behind the bush. "Something's just bit me!" he hissed, holding his ankle. Blood was seeping between his fingers. The disturbance triggered the attention of the boys, and they were all walking toward the bush. Ernie panicked and frantically tried to grab the Time-Turner in Ron's hand. Ron pulled it away from him, wanting to stay. He longed to jump out from the bushes and greet them, Fred in particular.

"Turn the key! Now!" Ernie insisted as he wormed into the chain.

Ron gave the boys one last lingering look through the leaves before turning the Time-Turner key. He remembered that Fred and George had made him ride the awful lawnmower that day, and that they'd found a gnome with bloody teeth behind the rosebush.

He would be back later.

**.  
**

**.**

The pair appeared in a busy Muggle street in the heart of London. The pavement was wet and gleaming from recent rain. It was many degrees cooler, and to their relief, the air clear and crisp. Together, they glided along the sidewalk until Hermione pulled him to sit down on a metal bench. Severus protested that the bench was wet and Hermione waited until no one was looking to mutter a drying charm. Her young ward kept his face scrunched in dour scowl, disappointed at being amidst Muggles.

"Now listen up, Severus, I am about to tell you some important things about the future." He instantly perked up at hearing these words.

Hermione cast a Muggle repellent charm so they could sit without drawing unwanted glances from the traffic. Men and women seemed to walk around an invisible bubble encompassing them. Delicately, she pulled out a Quick-Notes Quill from her purse and set it down on the bench between them. She did no miss the greedy look Severus gave when he laid eyes on the quill. The witch pointed at a little store across the street and began.

"When you are twenty-three, on March 9th, 1983, you're going to go into that store and you're going to purchase a ticket for the London Lotto. It's a Muggle drawing, but you must put aside your prejudice of Muggles and do it."

The brown, patterned feather bobbled up and down, writing Hermione's instructions.

"The Lotto?" he muttered in disbelief.

"Yes, the Lotto. You will fill your ticket with the following numbers." She handed him the little slip of paper with six numbers hastily scratched on it. "And on the following Wednesday, March 11, you must go to the Lotto office and claim your prize. Hermione pointed at a similarly barely-legible address written below the numbers.

Severus looked at her in wonder. "I win the Muggle Lotto."

"Well, yes," she confirmed.

"How much do I win?" he asked immediately.

Hermione gave him a very Dumbledore-like twinkle filled wink and replied, "Let's just say it'll be more than you'll know what to do with. They'll give you a check for your winnings which you can exchange into currency at any Muggle bank; with the help of a simple Confundus, of course." She pulled the scribbling quill from its notepad and handed both to Severus. The young man received the items with his mouth gaping wide open. For a moment, she thought he would dash off to the Muggle shop right then.

"I get to keep this too?" He motioned with the writing instruments.

She bit back a giggle and nodded. "You can use it to take notes in class. Now, you need to remember, this happens when you are twenty-three. Don't try it anytime before."

"I'm going to be rich," Severus whispered, still in disbelief. "Why not now? Why in so many years? I would really much rather have the gold now. You can make that happen, can't you?"

Hermione gave him a displeased expression and leaned back against the bench. "Don't push it. This is simply the way it is written."

"But why then?" he pressed. Severus was turned to her excitedly, shifted forward with his hands tightly gripping the wooden planks of their bench. She could hardly blame him. The promise of wealth must be infinitely tantalizing for someone who never had any.

Onyx eyes anxiously bore into hers, imploring and insistent. Finally, Hermione gave in and replied, "Severus, something happens in the future. Something you won't understand for a long time, and I —" she paused. "There will come a time when you will hate me, and this is the only way I know of easing your pain."

"What do you do to me?"

Sighing softly, she threw a casual arm around him the way an older sister comforted her troubled brother. How could one explain it all?

"I don't know," the witch said, almost to herself. "I haven't done it yet."

The young man tapped his hooked nose with the edge of the note she'd given him. His face was unreadable as murky river water. "You're bribing me—for my future forgiveness—for something that has yet to happen."

Feeling her heart palpitate slightly, Hermione bit her lips. "That's not —"

Severus burst out laughing hysterically. The sudden and unexpected reaction almost made Hermione jump. She stared at the youth, stunned and at a loss for words. To her, the situation was bizarre and illogical at best, but hardly comedic. She felt quite appalled at his lack of respect for the gravity of the matter. But he was only fourteen, she remembered, an age that felt much yet understood little.

When he stopped laughing, he pulled his shorts downward in an attempt to cover his knobbly knees and gave her a toothy grin. "I'm going to be rich beyond my dreams one day. Can I tell Lily?"

"Of course not!"

"But she's cross with me, and this is going to make her like me again. Can't we go see her now?" he pleaded.

"No." Hermione shook her head vehemently. "This is our secret, and I must always be yours."

He crossed his arms and looked mutinous.

"Will you look past it if I tell you more secrets?" she offered, still feeling guilty. Severus stiffened and ceased to slouch.

"Well, for one, I have another name. Some people call me Hermione."

"That's not very interesting," he said blandly.

"All right, how about this one. You'll make excellent marks on your O.W.L.s."

"I could have told you that."

And so she indulged him in bits and pieces of the future: of him becoming an extraordinary intimidating man, of him chasing her down when they first met, of the irises on Penton Hook Island, of him cooking her a terrible dinner. It helped to ease her weary heart that she was at least making this Severus happy. They sat on the bench for a long time discussing things to come. When Hermione felt the Time-Turner clicking again, she abruptly grabbed his arm and sent him home just in time.

She knew she should not have told him half of the things she did.

But what harm was it when it was already written to be?

.

* * *

Footnotes: inspired by an episode of the Twilight Zone. Thanks for reading!


	12. Dream

AN: we're back, lovelies, with our high drama. Thanks the many of you who are faithfully following (100 already!) and thanks to Lilygirl101 for betaing.

* * *

**Chapter 11 - Dream**

_**.**_

_"And he kissed me til the morning dawn."_

_._

1998: Severus is 38.

Hermione arrived by the edge of the lake, just outside of the Forbidden Forest. She'd made no advancements in her Time-Turner, but felt the need to check on Severus just the same. Normally, Hermione was not prone to missing people or being homesick, but she found herself physically hungry for his presence. The moon was high on the horizon and was fading into what looked to be a frosty dawn. The usually green fields were covered in crunchy snow. Pulling out a thick sweater and cloak, Hermione trekked toward the castle.

As she passed the rocky banks of the lake, she saw a hooded figure sitting by the frozen water. Careful not to slip on the icy path, Hermione took towards him. She knew it was Severus by the excessive curve of his back.

"I've been waiting for you," Severus said smoothly without looking up.

After casting a charm to clear the rocks of snow, Hermione lowered herself beside him. She huffed a breath into her stiff hands to warm them. Clouds of vapors condensed into grey puffs in the freezing air. Severus remained motionless, his obsidian eyes staring straight ahead. His hooked nose was red from blistering cold and his thin lips were chapped.

"It's freezing out here," she stated, clearly uncomfortable.

"It's February."

"February?"

"Yes," he said, deadpan, "You know, February, the marvelously cold one that comes before March."

"I know what February is!"

"Then why ask?"

Hermione sighed in response. "This is irrational. Can't we use a warming charm?"

The man shrugged and made no move to reach for his wand.

Taking his silence for approval, she flicked her wand at the air around them in three circles. The air instantly heated up. Her numb toes tingled in the sudden temperature rise. The frozen lake beneath their hanging feet cracked, seeping water onto clear ice.

"It's February 4th, 1998. I have not seen you in many many months, Miss Granger," he said.

Hermione's eyes widened at her name. There was no malice in his voice.

"But I was just with you at Thanksgiving," she remarked, thinking back.

"I do believe you've been prancing around somewhere with Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley as of late," he explained softly. He was speaking of his contemporary Hermione. Now that the air was warm, he peeled back his hood. Hermione swept her eyes over his features in the low light. He was older than she remembered him being at the time, as if he'd aged overnight from her memory.

"And does that bother you? Me being her?"

He raise his chin slightly to look across the lake. Sounding resigned, he muttered, "I must confess my disdain for your pathetic Gryffindor heart, but I've made my peace with who you are."

"Then we speaking truth now?" she boldly asked.

Severus gave her a wry smile that pulled deep lines around his eyes. "I always was."

Hermione pulled her knees up to chest to feel warmer. The charm worked only in a physical sense by elevating measurable temperature; the air still felt oddly cold and empty. It was a chill that came from within.

"Are you well? Tell me what is true, not what is real," she said imploringly.

The dark man sat still, amicable with the silence that took root. He'd long befriended the echo of emptiness that was companionship with oneself. When he finally spoke, his voice was even and prepared, like speeches a hundred times rehearsed. "I do not think of wellness. There is only what I have done, am doing, and must do."

"But what of hopes and choices?"

"There are no more decisions left to make; I've settled them all."

Hermione felt odd hearing this fatalist admission. She could not understand how he'd given up. Wasn't he the one who constantly insisted there was always a choice? She went back to the thoughts that had begun to gnaw at her mind when she'd left him last. He sounded like a man going to his death, reprieved of all difficult decisions. No more would he have to make the choice of whether to stand on the backs of fallen comrades to reach breathable air, or to hold his humanity and suffer. But there was a way, Hermione thought, that she could give him a greater freedom.

It plagued her because her thought was morally wrong. It went against the order of the universe, and worst of all, she was not certain she could accomplish it.

"And the choice between desire and principle? Have you defeated that as well?" She thought she would ask him what to do.

Severus considered her questions seriously. "There comes a time in life when one must choose to change or die."

She thought his answer too strong. It sounded as though he were speaking of something other than her. "And that must be set on the pin of a single answer?"

"Humans build their lives on their beliefs. You would do well to remember that is the way things are, Miss Granger."

"But—it's just—it's so hard," she protested.

"You are surprised."

"Pardon?"

"Because we promised you it was easy?"

She stared at the dark fluttering water under thin ice. "It makes me feel so breakable, to think I could betray my own beliefs of what is right and wrong so easily."

Severus folded his wide hands into his voluminous black robes. The night breeze tugged the edge of the fabric upward. He felt no pity for her, a child of privilege, whose main worries were how to stay true to some moral code. When he was in his twenties, he had already betrayed humanity and watched his hope die.

"How tragic that you must finally grow up."

Hermione set her jaw stiffly and felt her eyes watering. She thought he would understand.

"But to abandon my principle or abandon my desire; it is an impossible choice."

"When man comes to a bridge, he will know how to cross."

"And what was your bridge?" she snapped. "What made you choose to change and to not die? You never let me in on that part of your life."

He turned his onyx eyes on her. They stared at her without seeing. "I was never given a choice; my hand was forced."

"Professor Dumbledore?"

He jerked, startled by her words. "That is hardly pertinent—"

"I know many things about you, just like you know many things about me."

"Then you should know that I detest know-it-alls." Severus sneered mercilessly.

"I'm not that person anymore," Hermione shot back defensively. She would not let him belittle her now that he addressed her as who she truly was.

Her professor raised an eyebrow. "Neither am I."

Silence passed between them awkwardly as they each acknowledged the truth of what they said.

"Were you afraid?"

He turned his face toward her ever so slightly, catching the luminescent morning light.

"Terrified."

"Does this choice only come once in life?"

"If you choose death, obviously."

Hermione laughed, an empty sound. "And which is the braver answer?"

"Whatever seems most foolish," he replied tersely. She wasn't sure if he was being serious or not. It was always hard to tell.

"Do you resent him ...Professor Dumbledore?"

Severus barely thought the of her question be a second before he replied, "This is not a matter of Dumbledore."

"Then what is it?"

The man seemed ironically tickled by her question. "Divine punishment."

Hermione nodded, more to herself than for him to see. She needed to ask. "Tell me, Severus, what happened between us that made you resent me so much?"

"Shall I list it all? Because we can honestly be here all day." He smirked and dabbed at his nose.

"No, this is serious," she chided. "You threw a tantrum and screamed that you hated me."

A pained look came across his face. He was remembering, but he did not show his emotion more than a brief passing grimace. Then something changed in him as he came to an epiphany.

"You don't know yet. You don't know what you did," Severus whispered, suddenly amused at their role reversal. "The future is—ah —shall I say it? It is not for me give." He couldn't help but add silkily, "And revenge is sweeter than I ever imagined."

Hermione cringed. "But why did you forgive me?"

The wizard snorted; he knew exactly what she was after. "You can stop dodging the details. I was rather offended that you tried to buy me with your ploy. I remember everything; I let your quill continue writing even after you'd stopped it. You thought me so petty as to let greed dictate my forgiveness," he said sharply.

"It was the only thing I could think to do. I'm sorry."

He sneered at her distraught expression and retorted, "Don't be. I suppose you were somewhat correct about my nature. I wouldn't have it any other way."

Swinging her legs against the rocks, Hermione tried to not feel rotten. It was a mistake to have thought money was the answer. She let her long frizzy hair fall forward, covering her eyes, so he would not see her weakness.

"Don't cry, Mademoiselle," he said softly. "I forgave you because I saw, amongst all of those who claimed to care for me, you were the only one who truly did."

Hermione wiped her burning eyes on her sleeve and sniffed back the rest. He understood her after all. Even in his misery, he had the clarity and compassion to see her. He was a better man than she gave him credit for being. She gave a hiccup-broken smile. "Will you say it?"

Severus looked horribly unsettled. He gripped the rocks beneath him, and said in a strained tone, "Say what?"

"My name. Not Madge, she isn't me."

"Well, Miss—"

"No," she interjected, "not your student, me, my name."

The wizard paused, his black eyes gleamed against the reflective lake. He began, "Do you know how difficult it was to see your ghost everyday?"

Hermione shook her head. "My name."

Wrestling with his instinct to avert the subject, Severus gritted his teeth. "This is unnecessary—"

"Please."

"Hermione." His voice trembled.

Gold gears began to click slowly, signaling her departure. Hermione jumped to her feet and dug around in her mess of sweater and robes, trying to find the tiny machine, perhaps to throw it away and stay with him. Severus also rose to stand.

"Don't go." He reached out for her.

No matter how she tried, the Time-Turner was hopelessly lost in her layers of clothes. "I don't want to. Severus, I—"

The Time-Turner was changing everything into conglomerated nothing. He could see her form wavering. Hermione met his outstretched hand as if he were a life line. She clung to his presence, his being, and every grey hair and every line in his face.

"I can't stay," she breathed, sounding thin and grainy.

Severus pulled her toward him, square hands around her waist. With his touch, she became slightly more solid.

"Farewell then, Hermione," he whispered, barely able to contain his sorrow.

With eyes closed, she let his voice be the only thing in her world. It was the substance of what haunted her dreams and made the world meaningful. Standing tall on her toes, she closed the distance between their faces. He bent down and gave her the gentlest of potent kisses. His lips were rough, but she only tasted sweetness. It felt like a meeting of nova and void, a flux of the indescribable between infinite beings. In that moment, she knew her answer. She would change. She would give up her principle and let her heart live; she would change.

Hermione slipped a hand into his hair to pull him further down.

Before he could respond, she was gone, an illusion vanished into air.

Severus drew in a quivering breath and lowered his hands. The surface of the lake was smooth and silent with waning starlight. He looked out across the black ice, drowning in its midnight depth. Fact wasn't what it seemed any longer. He'd gotten lost in the lies at some point and began to believe that he was born for despair. Liars denied the truth to others, but he was not a liar; he was a visionary. He denied the truth to himself.

Wind hissed over the dark plain. The lake was calm.

He reached into his pocket and turned a small vial over in his right hand. He pulled it out and removed the stopper to examined the fluid. The glass was a glistening viscose green, venom from Nagini, a gift from his Lord. To sleep, perchance to dream; he could dream forever.

Severus closed his eyes and tilted the vial, ready to drink, but suddenly stopped and lowered it again. A fraction of dread gripped him upon feeling the neck of the vial cool from pouring liquid. He stuffed the stopper back into the vial and put it away. Today was not right.

The day he stopped fearing death was the day he would drink, because without that fear, he was powerless. Tomorrow he would return again, and the day after. Each dawn, he went to the lake and lifted the poison to his lips. Yet each day, he'd left without swallowing the venom. But after seeing her go, it was the closest he'd come to being mortally homesick.

Not since that night of green skies had he felt such loss. It was as if a part of him that had lived for all eternity, his mistress, his dream, suddenly ceased to exist. No amount of contemplation could have prepared him for this. He was truly alone now.

This was the last date on the list.

.

* * *

Footnotes (or real literature to read):

1. Many references to Neil Gaiman's _Sandman, _in which Morpheus chooses death over change.

2. "Visionaries deny truth to themselves" written by Nietzsche in _The Gay Science_.

3. Severus's last act is a comparison of him to Gail Wynand from _The Fountainhead, _a "man who could have been."

4. Mortally homesick, as in wanting to return to the original state of the unborn.


	13. Long Night's Journey Into Day

**Chapter 12 - Long Night's Journey Into Day**

.

.

On a quiet night, with warm air and beautiful stars, a night that reminded her of his lips on hers, Hermione looked in her bathroom mirror and held her hair up to see the results if she were to cut it. Change started with the little things. That was what her father always told her. It seemed rather boyish to her, and she quickly decided not to.

"You look decidedly terrible!" her mirror exclaimed in agreement.

Hermione shot her reflection a murderous look. "Be quiet before I hex you."

The mirror wobbled slightly in response. Hermione's reflection sighed, her eyes sparkling in the glass. Its brown eyes were clear and without surprise. Eyes, the window to the soul. Yes, eyes, where love was plain to see.

Hermione shut herself in the bedroom, away from the mirror. Most days, it was helpful and warned her of things stuck in her teeth or a stray hair, but it was quickly becoming another pain in the neck. Back against the bathroom door, she could see a gleaming golden object at her bedside table and longed to hold it. If only she could just leave. She yawned.

Hermione could see his endless eyes as he whispered for her to stay. And how she wanted to stay! To enjoy the break from his cruel stoicism and kiss him until her mind was numb.

But what was keeping her from simply going to him? Another night's lost sleep?

Changing into more acceptable day clothes, she made herself presentable. The young witch brushed her hair into a less abominable shape and applied her make up. She had to layer her concealer on thickly to hid the dark under eye circles. Satisfied that she no longer looked like walking death, Hermione put on her work shoes.

Standing tall, Hermione swung the chain around her neck and turned the dial, thoughts of a Dark Wizard at the forefront of her mind. She didn't want to admit it, but she hoped to recapture the magic of their last meeting. It seemed to be the answer—it had kept her from disappearing altogether.

_._

_"I have done it."_

.

1979: Severus is 19.

Her arrival was in an unexpected quiet darkness of winter. Only the buzzing of the streetlamps broke the silence. She was in a street in a city somewhere, between two tall dark buildings. The street was completely bare, not a soul in sight, eerie like the witching hour. Hermione shivered, glancing up and down the sidewalk hoping to find someone.

Where was Severus?

Perhaps she was wrong to think of him.

The winter air was biting as Hermione began to make her way down the sidewalk, heels clacking against cement. She fished out a cloak from her purse, but it did little shield against the howling winds. Her knees shivered from cold, knocking uncontrollably into each other. Thankfully, there was no snow on the ground. Two blocks from where she appeared, she spotted a pile of something dark in the middle of the road. Light from the tall halogen lamps was too faint for her to make what the mass was.

She felt a sense of obligation, pulling her toward the street. It felt as though she suddenly remembered she were running late to a very important conference. Clutching the high collar of her cloak to shut out the frosty air, she ran into the middle of road towards the pile, as fast as her feet could take her.

When she neared the black object, a wave of nausea washed over her. It smelled raw and metallic, a scent that sent numbing chills down her spine. She knew exactly what it was: blood. Hermione started to shake, both from the cold and fright—she was completely alone in the dark and there was blood in the air.

Brave, brave, she thought to herself, Gryffindors are brave.

Her right hand clutched her wand so tightly that her knuckles were completely white.

"Lumos," she whispered, afraid of what she would see.

Cold blue wandlight cast on the ground, and her heart skipped a beat. The black pile in the street was Severus, unconscious and covered in red. She fell to her knees and put her arms around him, as if she could shield his body from the elements. Seized by panic, her hands shook far too much for her to even find his pulse. All she could tell was that he was still warm. His face was paler than ever with blue-grey lips, covered in half-dried streams and smudges of blood.

"No, no..."

Shining light and the sounds of a motor interrupted Hermione. She spun her head around and saw the headlights of a car headed straight for them. Instinctively, she pressed his motionless body close to her and prepared to Disapparate, but stopped. Something told her that he could not survive the trip, not in this condition. And yet the car was zooming toward them, too fast and too close for her to levitate him away.

Thinking fast, she pointed her wand at the car and yelled, "_Leviosa_!", flying the car over them. The automobile skidded along the street, tires screeching, but kept driving; the driver most likely thought that he had fallen asleep at the wheel.

With the car gone, Hermione levitated Severus out of the main street and under a streetlamp. She ripped open his soiled robes and inspected him for injuries. The sight of all of his wounds brought freezing tears to her eyes. There were numerous lacerations on his chest and arms, too many for her to count. His broken ribs were surrounded by massive purple bruising, and the jagged bone of his fractured leg was poking through skin in a mess of blood and fabric. And his face, she struggled to stay focused, his nose was broken and bloody.

Things looked dire, but she could finally feel his heart beating under her hand. It was so faint that she feared it was her own panicked pounding that she felt. Quickly bandaging him up and spreading Essence of Dittany as best she could, Hermione prepared him for Apparition. It was risky, but they needed to get out of the cold.

But where could she take him?

If Voldemort had ordered his execution like this, left to die in the cold streets by a Muggle automobile, surely Severus's home was not safe. He seemed no older than twenty today, too young to have started employment at Hogwarts. And the Dark Mark burning clear and apparent on his arm would bar them from going to St. Mungo's or any other public facility without a fortune of gold which she did not have.

So Hermione took him to the only place she knew was guaranteed a safe house, where no questions would be asked: the Hog's Head. With the care of a mother toward her newborn, she Apparated them outside of the Hog's Head and purchased a room. The tavern was just as filthy then as she always remembered. Hardly an ideal location to mend injuries, but it would have to suffice.

Aberforth Dumbledore eyed her suspiciously when she levitated a large human-sized black package in with her, but remained silent. His blue eyes trailed her as she stumbled up the narrow staircase.

Once in their room, Hermione peeled off his robes, dressed him in some ill-fitting Transfigured clothes, and floated him under the dingy covers. Healing potions would have to wait until the morning when the apothecary opened. She could only heal his surface wounds and hope he lived until dawn. He must, she reasoned, for she needed to see him in the future.

With a damp towel, she cleaned away the blood and grime by hand, not daring to use magic for fear it would worsen the wounds. The cuts and ribs healed quite nicely when she summoned the courage to to use a few healing charms, but the leg simply would not. Must have been a nasty hex, she inferred. If only she had brought better supplies with her. But it had been years since the war and her vigilance had fallen. She only had clothing and some odds and ends in her bottomless bag.

Thankfully, dawn's arrival was swift. Hermione set out to purchase some healing potions just as the clock struck eight. When she returned, Severus was still unconscious. Cautious of his broken leg, she levitated him into a more upright position and administered her purchases, all except the Skele-grow. The vial instructions said that the patient should be awake.

Half an hour passed, and Severus still refused to wake up. Faced with the prospect she might disappear before he woke, Hermione was wracked with worry. She paced the room back and forth, going over the potions list again. Perhaps she administered them in the wrong order or had given the wrong dose.

Feeling slightly useless, she sat on the bed beside the sleeping wizard and could only watched him intently, not wanting to miss any sign of stirring. When he showed no signs of movement for another half hour, she resigned herself to the fact that he would not wake under her watch and busied herself writing him instructions on the medication and his whereabouts.

After completing a collection of twenty excruciatingly detailed notes, Hermione was beside herself with worry and could not help but want to cry. It had been hours and not even a twitch. This was different from waiting on Harry Potter to wake up as a child. There was Madame Pomfery then to assure them that all was well. There was no one now, only her patient, some vague instructions on a bottle, and her—left alone to drive herself crazy.

She sniffed back her tears and looked at his serene face. Gently, she ran her fingertips along his face, tracing his features; his deep fierce eyes, his crooked nose, his gaunt face. Color had begun to creep back into to his pallid skin. Up close, he looked just barely older than a boy, thin and pinched like a wiry twig.

"Just wake up, please—" she hiccuped. "I don't understand why you won't. The vial said within two hours—I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I know I've been terribly selfish and I don't deserve your forgiveness. But please stop punishing me."

Smoothing his long greasy hair away from his face, she leaned down and delicately pressed her lips against his. Her kiss was brief and hesitant, as if she were afraid he would catch her in the act. "Please, Severus, if you can hear me, wake up," she whispered into his ear.

No answer.

"Worked for Sleeping Beauty, didn't it?" she grumbled. "I guess I'm just not the right one."

Exasperated, Hermione laid her head on his chest and took some solace in feeling it move up and down with his each breath. Weary exhaustion from tensely worry all night and morning caught up with her, and she drifted into sleep listening to Severus's rhythmic respiratory sounds.

Hermione dreamed that she was home, sitting at her desk, looking at her equations. So beautifully were they organized, each observing the exact same margins as the one before. She picked up a little beaded coin purse beside them and poured the contents into her left palm. Carefully picking out all the especially shiny Knuts, she dropped them back into the purse. The Sickles and Galleons followed into the purse as well and the little pile of leftover grimy Knuts were unceremoniously dumped into a tea cup missing its handle.

The sun was warm against her back and she was happy. A diamond ring in the shape of spinning hourglass was on her hand and she felt complete, so deeply in love she could feel his embrace when she closed her eyes. For some reason, her flat was on the ocean and her floor was drifting, rocking. Then her chair started to cough, shaking her with each of its fits.

Waking suddenly, the witch felt her pillow shaking. No, not her pillow, Severus! Bolting up, she shook herself awake and steadied her patient. He was coughing violently. Coughing, but alive, she noted triumphantly.

"Drink this." She pressed a glass of water into his hands.

"What foul... concoctions have you been feeding me?" he groaned, still unable to suppress the involuntary spasms in his lungs. Furrowing her brow in concern, Hermione helped him sit up and gently patted his back.

"Don't speak. There's plenty of time for that later."

Content that he had consumed the entire glass, the witch turned her back for a moment to refill the glass. When she finished, he was attempting to get out bed.

"Stay where you are!" she chided. "You are hardly in a state to move! Here, drink your Skele-grow."

Severus grimaced at her protective attitude. "Why couldn't you have given me that when I was asleep, it's absolutely the worst!" he snapped when she handed him the vial.

"The instructions said not to..."

"Instructions are for imbeciles," he said sharply, voice still hoarse from his respiratory distress. He then added eagerly, "Have you taken me to the future?" Hermione grinned at his acerbic comment, deeply thankful that he had returned as his usual self.

"I'm afraid not," she returned.

A look of horror struck his face as he suddenly began to recall the events of the night. "We have to go now! It isn't safe here!" he burst out suddenly. The Dark Wizard's hollow voice rang in his head.

'Lord Voldemort has no use for a servant who puts his own satisfaction before the cause.'

The injured wizard made another attempt to leave, only to be caught by Hermione and forcefully pushed back into bed.

"There's no use in going out there in your condition," she said. "If you go out there, Vol—You-Know-Who will surely catch wind that you are still alive. Drink your potion now. Daylight is on our side."

"But-" he protested.

"Drink your potion!" she shouted, her bossy nature emerging. Reluctantly, he downed the foul tasting medicine with a mutinous look.

"How did you find me?" he asked, now more collected after thinking about the situation.

Hermione leaned back in her chair, certain that he would not make a break for it. "The Time-Turner took me there randomly. I found you unconscious in the middle of a Muggle street and brought you here, the Hog's Head that is. I tried to heal your leg but it simply won't."

"Bellatrix..."Severus gritted his teeth, fingers clutching the shabby blanket.

"Promise me this won't happen again. I was so frightened—I thought—I might not be here for you next time!"

"Don't worry, Madge, I am always meant to survive," he murmured solemnly.

"Oh Severus ...I'm so sorry!" she wailed upon hearing this. The guilt of his burden shot back into her thoughts and she felt more ashamed than ever. He was meant to wait for her. She shouldn't have used her Time-Turner again, not without any improvements. But if she hadn't, who would be here to care for him? It was small comfort.

He placed a hand on her arm, afraid she was going to cry but unable to understand why. "Don't. It is—my blessing."

His forgiveness came so easy that Hermione was stunned.

"What date is it?" she asked somberly, fearful of the answer.

"November 19, 1979."

Hermione closed her eyes and nodded; there was no use asking forgiveness from a Severus who could not fathom why, much less give it.

"Tell me what happened," she insisted.

"The Dark Lord, he—" Severus was reluctant, folding his arms in and refused to face her, "I almost betrayed you to him."

Ghostly pale, he closed his eyes and lowered his head in shame. He was fearful and angry that he had come within a hair's breath of selling her to the darkness in exchange for his own skin. Like a cheap piece of parchment, he had crumbled under the horror and nearly poured his mind out for his Lord to see. The dusty floor screeched as Hermione pulled her chair closer to the bedside.

"It's alright now," she soothed him. "How did he find out?"

"It was that dirty whore," he spat."Bellatrix Lestrange overhead us speaking in Diagon Alley yesterday and told him like the filthy rat she is." She thought back to when she had met Bellatrix, deranged and emaciated. It was difficult to imagine her simply strolling around in Diagon Alley.

"And what does V—You-Know-Who know now?" she pressed.

He gave a look of self-loathing. "He knows you have a Time-Turner. And that you come to me."

"Does he intend to come after it?"

Severus nodded grimly, but added with a small glint of triumph, "He knows nothing of the list though."

The news was grim indeed. Hermione's eyes were troubled. She had no allies here, no one to rescue her if she were captured. But it should never come to that, she reassured herself. As long as the list was off limits, Voldemort could not find her. But them why send Severus to his death unless to lure her out?

"My deepest apologies, Madge," her patient's crackling voice interrupted her thoughts. "I tried to resist."

"No, no..." She turned her attention back to him quickly. "There was nothing you could do. I don't blame you, Severus. We have to plan for your safety now. I think I might know of a way you can save yourself, but you must trust me completely."

She felt him pause with lingering doubt before giving her a nod. Hermione debated with herself about whether to go through with her plan. It's implications were deeply resonant, with effects that rippled through the future years. To put it simply, it set everything that would happen into motion.

Deep down inside, Hermione knew ultimately she changed nothing. It simply assuaged her conscience to know that this way, she gave him a small reprieve from his misery. Her reason told her that this was not the path, that it would inevitably lead to more suffering. Yet her heart saw it was painfully clear that, maybe, it was always meant to be this way. This was her one great betrayal to him, she was sure.

Eventually, her emotion won.

"In a few hours, a meeting will occur here in a room down the hall," she began, "Albus Dumbledore—don't interrupt—will be interviewing Sybill Trelawney for a Divinations post at Hogwarts. You must eavesdrop and hear every word that is said. During their conversation, she will make a prophecy concerning your Dark Lord. It is absolutely crucial that you commit her prophecy to memory. She will catch you listening, and as soon as she does, you must go to You-Know-Who and tell him what you have heard."

"A prophecy..." Severus repeated, stunned. "But what of you?"

"He will forget me for the moment. If he persists, you must keep your silence and feign ignorance. Practice your Occlumency, you shall need it now more than ever. Perhaps this will even gain you favor. I believe him to leave the subject behind in favor of the prophecy. You must promise me that you will not leave the Hog's  
Head until you have heard the prophecy. I suspect a Death Eater will come for you soon, but you must thwart him. It is important that you stay here the entire time."

Severus considered it for a moment, debating some introspective protest, before answering, "You have my word."

"Be safe Severus. You-Know-Who is simply a self-centered man beneath it all, you must remember that. He has no connection to humanity, no empathy and must be treated as such. Praise his logic and he will favor you."

"You speak as though you are familiar..."

"Let us not converse of this any further."

He would hate her for sending him to be the harbinger of death for his beloved, but at least this way he did not have to shoulder his own guilt. Hermione took comfort in knowing that he would blame her instead of himself for his one great tragedy. It was her penance. It was her gift to him.

Without warning, her patient winced in pain and gripped his arm. Lord Voldemort was calling for him especially, tracing his location. Severus cried out from the burning pain. It was too soon!

Just as he was bending over from shock, she felt her vision swimming. Her hands were disappearing like smoke. "No! Severus!" she shouted, lunging forward toward him in an attempt to reach the one thing tying her to this world. She could not think of anything save keeping him safe.

Hermione landed face first with a loud thud on her bedroom floor, heart threatening to burst. No, she must go back! Pulling the Time-Turner out of her robes, she turned the dial blindly. She thought of his tortured expression, of his long black hair and gritted teeth, of her aching heart. A hazy sensation of being shut out over took her, like trying to slip into a dream again once one has already woken up from it.

She screamed in frustration, still fighting to retain every little detail of the Hog's Head room in her mind. Hermione was clawing her way back to November 19, 1979, but the fabric of time was neither permissive nor forgiving, and after a while, she felt herself slowly slip away.

.

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notes: So comes the beginning of the end!


	14. Diagon Alley

AN: Thanks to lilygirl101 for betaing. Visit **seinde[dot]tumblr[dot]com**, companion to the stories, for cut scenes and extras.

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**Chapter**** 13 - ****Diagon**** Alley**

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**.**

Mumbles, clatters, rustling, footsteps.

Hermione was sitting on round cobblestones, nowhere even remotely close to the Hog's Head.

"NO!" she cried to no one in particular. Her eyes were hot from frustration and failure, terror stung at her. Several witches and wizards around the street stared, muttering to their companions as they passed by. It must have been quite a sight, a witch shouting at air in the middle of the street.

She must go back! Terrible dread filled her stomach and gnawed at her rationality. She did not trust Severus to ignore Voldemort's calls; it would surely be the death of him. With shaky hands, she tried to turn her time dial again, but it would not budge. The metallic bar felt greasy and unyielding, refusing to rotate for any force, much less for her unsteady fingers.

"Madge!"

Someone dark was running toward her through the bustling crowd. She only caught a glimpse of flying black robes before she felt herself being pulled to her feet from behind.

"Are you alright?" a young Severus asked her, visibly concerned. "You look deathly ill."

Hermione glanced up at his face. He seemed almost identical to the poor boy she'd left in the Hog's Head, albeit with a scraggly unkempt beard. Swallowing the lump in her throat, the witch grasped at his arm desperately.

"When..."

"November 12, 1979. This is Diagon Alley. We really ought to get you out of the street. People are staring because you're gumming up the works."

Her lower lip quivered at the date, emotions rushing to overtake her. So close, so _close_! She had reached the right Severus, but not at the right time. Such a minor slip of the days—merely a week, it was divinely amusing irony that she had come so close, almost yet not quite right. But almost was not good enough in the face of mortal peril. Hermione fought the urge to cry. Crying never did anyone anything.

"Severus, have we been overhead?" she whispered to him hoarsely.

Diagon Alley was where he had said Bellatrix Lestrange found them. Hermione knew logically that what happened would still happen, regardless of her intentions, but her logic was pressed thin in the face of such extreme strain. No matter how many instances of time asserting the order of matters she'd witnessed, there was always a glimpse of hope that she could change things. For time was the great tree that twisted its branches through them and bore the fruit of event, and the fruit was what truly mattered, so why could it not be a pear instead of an apple on the same branch, or other equally incomparable items?

Perhaps she could warn him instead, yes! She could warn him! Time would pass as it always should, but the event would differ. Perhaps another wizard would be at Voldemort's mercy. To trade one suffering for another was horrible, but Hermione could no longer think clearly enough to notice.

The young wizard threw her a non-comprehending look. "Well, you've certainly got your head in a fog today. I hope you notice that we've yet to share any words to overhear. Come, I shall take you somewhere so you may gather your wits."

Accepting his outstretched hand, Hermione followed him down the cobblestone alley. Her hair was so bushy and her eyes so bewildered that many passing by involuntarily turned for a second look. Oh, what a comically unkempt pair they were, she thought.

"Severus, stop. I don't want to go any further," she protested, lifting up her robes to show her lack of shoes. In her haste and desperation, she'd left them by accident.

Her companion laughed but seemed slightly irked. "Well, I suppose the street is as good as any place," he mocked. "I daresay that being barefoot is the new fad." She barely heard him. Hermione saw his mouth move but could only catch every fifth word.

Her brown eyes flitted through the crowd in paranoia. She leaned in close and muttered, "We need to leave here. You're in danger! Terrible, terrible danger! You must trust me. Anywhere but here!" With glittering eyes, Hermione nodded fervently to add more emphasis on her demand. The adrenaline in her blood made her fidget and glance wildly.

Wrinkling his brow, Severus seemed unsure of what to make of this warning. "Of what danger do you speak?"

"I can't say! Not now."

"Yet I must trust you regardless?"

Hermione grasped his arms with trembling hands and addressed him in all seriousness, "Of course! I'm here to save you!"

"From what?" he asked simply.

"Argh!" the disheveled witch moaned, "Will you just listen! I can't say, but I assure you it is a matter of _life__ and __death_." She felt as if she were speaking delicate instructions to an uncomprehending cow. How could he not trust her?

Severus raised an eyebrow at her and said softly, "You take my confidence for granted. I fail to see why I must be in the dark on such a great matter."

Kicking a pebble in exasperation, Hermione threw up her arm and gestured wildly. She didn't mean to raise her voice but the futility of her hasty efforts at convincing Severus tickled the bossiness in her. "Severus, sometimes you must put faith in others, especially those of us who are on your side. I am not here to make you a self-fulfilling prophecy; I am here to prevent it! Now just set aside your indignant inflated ego and listen to what I say!"

Having quite the indignant ego she spoke of, Severus was immediately offended and returned icily, "And if I do not?"

"Don't be a toad now!"

He twisted his lips cruelly looking of dangerous malice. The disturbance caused by their argument had by chance attracted the attention of a striking wizard nearby. He had aristocratic features and olive skin that made his bright eyes gleam. The man turned behind him and pulled a witch forward so she, too, may eavesdrop with him. This woman was as dark as her counterpart was light, exuding an air of black-spun regal arrogance. Some would have described her as beautiful if not for a distinct and unpredictable madness in her eye.

The two of them peered around a brick corner at Severus and Hermione, both fascinated by the argument taking place. The woman nearly shouted out when Severus pulled a golden object from Hermione's robes, but her sandy haired partner quickly muffled her with a hand over her mouth.

"Don't insult me. You _need __me_ like a parasite. You're just like a rotten Muggle," Severus hissed bitterly.

Hermione gasped at his insult. "I hope my ears are mistaken. Care to repeat that last bit?"

"You're rotten! You think you are superior with that Time-Turner of yours, hopping in the past as if our lives were your personal playground. Your magic is no better than mine, yet you treat it like it is a godly gift to man. Is it even thrilling for you? To play with such stakes and not be the one to pay?" he snapped.

"Do not be petty with me, Severus!" she lectured, irritated at his accusations, "Grow up already! This is a matter of importance beyond personal arrogance. It would do you well to remember that sometimes secrets are kept for your own good. Now stop making a scene."

"Making a scene?" the dark haired wizard said purposely incredulous. "I'm the one making a scene? With my pair of perfectly dashing shoes and my well controlled hair—yes, it's plain I'm the one making a scene."

"Oh, you are despicable!" Hermione cried, extremely self-conscious of her appearance.

"Sometimes I wish your Time-Turner could just take you to the stone age, and I'd be rid of you!" he lashed out icily.

Hermione clenched her teeth and bit back a comment about his inferiority complex. Just as she was trying to control herself and keep focus on her original task, he began again.

"And on that matter, Madge, how is the Time-Turner working for you these days? Rather curious that you've still not managed to perfect it after all this time. Could it be that you simply don't have the—ah—capacity?"

The Unspeakable gasped at his insinuation. As if he could understand the challenges of Arithmancy. Just when Hermione was ready to direct her fuming into a comeback, her eye caught the glint of Bellatrix Lestrange's curious stare. The woman's face was different than she remembered, but the insanity in her was unmistakable. The man behind Bellatrix gave a triumphant grin and Disapparated. Eyes widening, she suddenly placed a hand over Severus's mouth to prevent him from continuing. He was so taken aback at the unannounced disruption that he had his wand out ready to strike. Spinning around to follow Hermione's terrified gaze, he only managed to catch the shadow of Bellatrix's jeering sneer as she vanished with a pop.

"No—no it can't be," she whispered, terrified.

Severus's eyes darted to her. "Overheard—" he muttered, "—what you were referring to."

"Oh Severus! It was me all along! If I only I'd let you go, then they'd never have heard any of it." Overcome with nausea and shame, Hermione covered her face, unable to to look at her companion.

Disoriented and confused, Severus placed a hand on her shoulder and said in a low voice, "They? There was only Bellatrix." It seemed absurd that he had seen wrong. There had only been one person behind them.

"Yes, Bellatrix Lestrange and him—the man from Malfoy Manor, the man who gave you the drugs!" Her words were frantically spilling out without any filter. She'd completely forgotten that she'd met such a man many many years into the future just as she'd lost his name.

"Who?"

"Dark skin and light eyes—he's a Death Eater from an old family. Selwind—Selwyn! Severus, you must be careful. They've gone to tell _him_ about the Time-Turner!"

He narrowed his eyes, full of suspicion.

"Him—"

"You-Know-Who," she answered in a strained whisper.

"Impossible," Severus muttered sternly. "Ellsworth is my oldest friend. He would never betray me."

Hermione was bordering hysteria, unable to cope with the extended sleep deprivation and gravity of recent events. "Then Bellatrix! Don't let them hurt you, Severus. Friend or no friend, they will! They'll hex you until bleed from every limb!"

Severus looked mortified at the thought.

Guilty and defeated, she did not even try to fight as the Time-Turner roughly yanked her back to the present. She had made a mess of things and facilitated the very event she had been trying to prevent. No crying, she told herself, crying never did much good. But the emotion would not stay in and in a fit of rage, she flung the golden hourglass against the bedroom wall. The little object flickered and ticked at the impact then disappeared.

Hermione gasped and ran over to the empty space where it had been. She feverishly patted the carpet where it was just a second ago. The Time-Turner was gone. Letting out a sob, she cursed herself. The enchanted pendant had sent itself somewhere in time, and there was no indication it would be back any time soon.

.

.

Ron ducked blazing jets of red and green as he ran though hordes of battling wizards. He'd looked high and low for Hermione but could not find her anywhere. Catching a glimpse of familiar red hair, he stumbled while crouched to one of his brothers. He was halfway over when he stopped with a sour taste in his mouth. Torn between following his promise to leave the past be and his desire to rescue Fred, he stood petrified. Discipline, he thought, there was nothing he could do to save anyone. But how he yearned for it!

A curse zipped by his ear, reminding him that he was not a mere bystander. As taught in training, he propelled forward a shield and kept his line of sight clear.

In a moment of divine intervention, he witnessed a black bloom of smoke fly out from the castle just as his face lifted upward. It was heading into the forest, concentrated and swerving. Ron decided to follow its indecisive path. Once in the dark cover of trees, the new Auror disillusioned himself and tiptoed over black underbrush, silently tracking his target.

Ron was at Hogwarts. He was at the night of the battle. He'd turned his back on his threatened family. He was even hot on the heels of Severus Snape, following his every move, but there was still no Hermione. Snape stopped every few steps and glanced at Ron's general direction, as if he knew someone trailed behind. The dark man swished his robes behind him to continue after a long pause.

Where was Hermione?

What Ron failed realize was that, at that precise moment in the grand continuum, Hermione still had yet to work up the courage to undertake the final step of her intentions. She was never meant to return to the battle. In any other universe, she would not have grown to care so deeply for Severus—she'd always simply let him die. Those versions would have taken her own advice to heart and quietly leave the Moirae to their work. There was no Hermione here because she'd yet to break the cycle; somehow, time had been tricked.

It still remained to be seen whether she could succeed, but when she manages her fears and returns, fate will be reset. In an attempt to fix the discontinuity, time will grow upon itself, creating extra existences to smooth the gaps. To satisfy the occurrence of this particular Ron's presence, Severus Snape will begin to exist in two places at once.

Hermione's final journey was not written in the stars, it was written by herself.

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Footnotes:

1. Hermione's incoherent bit about trees and fruits indicate her lack of clear thought or judgement, stolen from Martel's_ Beatrice__ and__ Virgil_.

2. Time's topology is inspired by the regeneration behavior of a planarian. Here's the logic breakdown, let's say there exist 5 segments of time: 1-2-3-4-5. If you make a break and switch up the order: 1-2-4-3-5, the obvious fix for the discontinuity is add in the breaks: 1-2-(3)-4-3-(4)-5. Hence, extrapolating liberally, things will exist twice. The worm behaves similarly.


	15. Ten

AN: Thanks to lilygirl101 for betaing. I've just launched my ficblog with some Rewind extras for the curious readers out there, so visit **seinde[dot]tumblr[dot]com**, companion to the stories, for cut scenes and sneak peeks.

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**Chapter 14 - Ten  
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Hermione slept, uneasy and dreamless, while she waited for the Time-Turner to return. It was the type of sleep that overcame the body due to fatigue but did nothing to facilitate rest. In fact, when she woke in the morning, Hermione felt even more tired than before. There seemed to be a funny, fluttering rock in the middle of her stomach that moved increasingly with every waking second.

To reduce suspicion, she transfigured one of her Knuts into a Time-Turner-looking object and set it in the glass case on her desk in the Time Room. Anyone who walked by would be non-the-wiser, but Hermione kept stealing glances at the fake, hoping the slight unevenness of the gears did not pique any interest. Her breath froze when Ernie Fawcett walked by, absently tapping the case as he said hello, but quickly recovered when he failed to comment on or look at the fake.

She took out her leather-spine journal and began to compile her list of dates. The last few encounters had given her a pretty good idea of how to focus the destination time. It had to do less with the mechanics and more with the intentions of the user. Severus had been right, she though wryly. Like Apparating, she'd gotten close to where she wanted to go by simply thinking of him and desiring his company. It explained everything, why she'd never been able to go past 1960 despite being able to go much further than anticipated. Severus hadn't been born, and the Time-Turner was unable to pull her toward something that did not exist.

"May 24, 1985. Stochastic Alley, morning," she wrote as her first entry, reminiscing of the way his hands lingered while handing her the tea cup, earl grey as dark as his eyes. She should have known then.

Next, Hermione continued with "April 8, 1978. Hogwarts, edge of the forest, by a crooked tree, dinner hour." She almost laughed at the comedic detail with which she wrote the location. It reminded her of the way she'd received her Hogwarts letter, standing at swing number four in the park.

"July 15, 1984. Nowhere," she jotted before scratching out the word. Severus had been under the impression that he'd chosen nowhere, so she'd let him have that satisfaction.

So, like this, Hermione continued her list until every last date was written. Some were just numbers, some where just places, and some she didn't know enough to write either. When she felt it was sufficiently complete, she tapped her wand on the parchment and rearranged everything by date. The list was quite lengthy, but it felt odd to compress them, whatever "they" were. Certainly there was more between the two of them than just words spread amongst a finite list of dates.

There had to be.

Hermione sighed and pressed ahead, quill linger at the heading space. All that was left was for her to fulfill the top date on the list. The witch folded the parchment neatly and tucked it into the inner pocket of her robes.

When she returned home, the Time-Turner sat in the corner where it had previously disappeared, lying unassuming and undisturbed. Not even stopping to take off her shoes, or change her clothes, or eat dinner, she dove for the instrument. Taking a deep breath, she began the ticks and concentrated on September 18, 1970. She saw his long greasy hair and boyish features so clearly that she could almost touch him.

.

.

1970: Severus is 10

Hermione saw a familiar boy with a large nose sitting under a bizarre purple umbrella. Light rain skipped on the oily fabric and ran down metal spines. The boy was leaned back on an old lawn chair, languidly watching the moist ground, eyes black and empty. He seemed bored, and yet also fascinated, by the shiny rills of automobile grease spinning colors on rain water.

Hermione kept her wand out as she approached him so he could see her umbrella charm. The twig-like boy bolted up from his chair and stared at her wand as if he'd seen a ghost. Unrestrained and daring, he craned his pinched neck out to get a better glimpse at Hermione.

When she was a house away, Hermione stopped as to not startle him.

"Severus," she called.

The boy tilted his head curiously at her, his long pale face twisted up in excitement. Purple umbrella bobbing up and down, he cautiously took small steps forward.

"How do you know my name?" Severus asked, words thick with unexpected Yorkshire working class accent, an accent that he most likely suppressed to seem more upper crust at school. His eyes shifting rapidly from Hermione's smile to her wand to her stiff hemmed robes. He'd seen witches around the town, but he could tell from her fancy clothes that she did not belong here.

Hermione tucked some unruly rain-frizzed hair behind an ear and bent down to be more at eye-level. She moved her wand forward to cover both herself and the purple umbrella. Severus turned up when he heard the stop of pattering on old, stretched fabric. Closing the umbrella, he leaned back to look up at the clear, shielding charm. Desire was clear in his eyes as he stared upon fat raindrops colliding with Hermione's magic.

"We are great friends, or should I say, we will be great friends, Severus."

The boy gripped his dingy umbrella handle tightly, and Hermione felt his burning gaze on her brown wand. There was a hunger and desperation in his posture that could not be ignored. She had expected him to exclaim that she was a witch, but in hindsight, it was quite obvious, and Severus was never one to state the obvious.

She lowered her wand so he could see better.

"And how 'ev we bin friends? I don't know ye," he replied sharply, black eyes never leaving the wand. Hermione fought the urge to chuckle at his distrust.

This ten-year-old boy was already so characteristic of the person he was to become. His sallow face was filled with an expression of gloom that only served to enhance the dismal state of his poorly fitting clothes. He was not someone Hermione would have befriended as a girl. In fact, his grimy fingernails and greasy hair would have made her run away in disgust. She had been a child of privilege indeed.

"But you will! My name is Madge, and I'm a time traveler, you see."

"A time traveler?" His voice was skeptical. "Those don't exist."

Hermione shook her head gently and explained further, "We exist in the future! And I need you to help me with my travels. The magic isn't perfect yet. Will you help me?"

The stringy, shifty boy pressed his lips together, but his eyes were bright and large. She could tell he was brimming with barely kept excitement at the prospect.

"I've got magic too. I know loads o'spells. I'm a wizard and I'm going to Hogwarts next yeer!"

"Yes, Severus. I know you are. Will you help me?"

Severus picked at the loose strings of his umbrella subconsciously. "What can I do?"

"It'll be a grand adventure! Time traveling is fickle, and there are times when I will require your aid in matters like procuring food and shelter. Just go to these places on these dates and you'll meet me," Hermione said softly before pulling the white parchment from her robes. It rustled slightly against fabric, yielding with its creases.

Severus snatched the folded paper from her as soon as it was close enough. He was ecstatic at the challenge of such a huge secret. All his life, he'd just been that weird little urchin at row's end that special things seemed to skip over. A crease formed between his eyebrows as he poured over the list.

"I got to help ye fer this long? 1998, I'll be ancient then!" he remarked with unmistakable disappointment.

"You'll love every minute of it!"

The boy regarded her with a suspicious stare.

"And you can't tell Lily, or anyone else," Hermione warned before he could ask further questions.

Severus cocked his head at the comment, intrigued.

"Who's Lily?"

Stupid Hermione, her mind berated. Seeing as the rain had subsided, Hermione retracted her umbrella and placed her wand on her palm. "Point me, Lily Evans." The brown wand spun in three blurry rotations before stopping and pointing toward the river behind them. The witch took it between her fingers and smoke drifted out of the wand as if it were a pipe, gathering into a vague image of a young girl with freckles and long hair.

"This is Lily, and you'll meet her somewhere over there." Hermione pointed across the river.

The boy crossed his arms indignantly. "Why would I care to meet some girl?"

"Because she's a witch, but she doesn't know it yet. And she needs you to tell her."

"A Muggleborn witch!" Severus jumped at the thought.

"Oh yes!"

"And how do I know it's true?"

"I suppose you'll just have to wait and see."

Severus shot her a childish frown.

"How else can I convince you..." She played the charade just as she'd planned. "Well, I can take you to the Department of Mysteries and let you do a bit of time traveling yourself."

"At the Ministry of Magic? I never been; how can we get in? I mean, it's Saturday. Are ye an Unspeakable? Can we go now?"

Hermione smiled knowingly and stretched out her hand.

"We're going to Apparate, have you ever Apparated with your mum?"

The dark-haired boy shook his head but almost instantly nodded as well. He was unsure of which answer Hermione preferred to hear and "yes" seemed the better option—she might think him less prepared to go otherwise, and he desperately wanted to take her hand.

Kneeling down, Hermione stared young Severus in the eye and said very seriously, "Don't be ashamed of things you don't know. You'll see soon enough." He placed his small hand into hers, and they disappeared from the house.

The way into the Ministry was dark and desolate. Only a few wizards' footsteps echoed through the great halls, stragglers and junior staff working long hours over the weekend. Hermione had to threaten with a silencing charm to get Severus to stop his incessant questioning; they boy was simply too curious, wanting to touch everything that they passed. He was inches from poking his finger into the statue House-Elf's nose before Hermione caught him and dragged him from the fountain.

They narrowly missed a collision with a very young witch running across the floor toward the stairs with a flurry of papers trailing her. She was in such a hurry that she barely noticed the intruders. Weekends at the Ministry were always this way, an odd juxtaposition of quiet and panic. Hermione took Severus to the lifts, and they silently rode the cranking box to Level Nine.

Once at the familiar black door, Hermione gestured for Severus to open it, and he eagerly pushed the gate to the Department of Mysteries open. They quickly moved past the front office and toward another door. Behind this next door, the revolving room began to move as soon as they stepped upon its tiles.

"How ye know which door to go to?"

Hermione winked and fished out a pair of glasses from her purse. She placed the round yellow-glass spectacles on Severus's face and stooped to his height.

"Do you see the red door?"

"Tha' one!" Severus shouted excitedly as he pointed at a door. His finger followed the door as it passed them and ran toward it. The outer circle of tiles stopped moving as soon as he touched the doorknob. Looking to Hermione for approval, his hands stopped on the silver knob. She nodded for him to continue, and he sprang forward into the room.

This Time Room was different than Hermione's version; it's wall of ticking clocks and whirling mechanical turners were reduced to a merely a single cabinet. Time research experienced a fairly recent surge in popularity, it seemed. She recognized most of the clocks and gave Severus a long and painful speech about each of them.

When she thought Severus's mind was wandering in boredom, Hermione pointed out an hourglass the size of a pineapple siting on the bottom shelf.

"This one," she stressed, "is the Emerson Time-Turner. A first prototype, I believe. It takes you up to half an hour back in time. Let's play with this one."

Severus perked up at this and stopped picking at a hole in his old shirt.

Using her wand, Hermione traced a glyph on the window of the glass case. The case chattered with metal gears and delivered the large Time-Turner into a front shelf. A roar of wind pulsed up from metal vents near the floor of the case, sucking any contaminates away in a curtain of air. A glass sheet dropped behind the Time-Turner to shield the other artifacts. Hermione went to the side of the case and opened a small hatch to retrieve the Emerson model.

The huge hourglass was heavy and unruly, so much so that it was ridiculous of anyone to have considered it functional. Nonetheless, it was an important piece of Time-Turner history.

She cradled the hourglass as she shut the hatch. The cabinet became silent once more.

"Why so many glass walls?" Severus asked.

"To keep water out," the Unspeakable replied smoothly. "Time-Turners are immobilized by water. A single drop and the thing stops working."

"Can I touch it?"

"In a minute. Patience, young mister Snape."

Severus groaned in displeasure and stamped his foot down.

Hermione held the huge glass contraption with both hands and explained, "The Emerson works by physically pulling grains of time sand from the bottom half into the top half. When you turn the dial on the bottom, the gears move to go against the flow of time. Each grain is a second. Once you stop turning, the sand will fall down again. And when the last grain falls, you must end up where you started or else you'll be splinched."

"Splinched?"

"Torn apart by magic. But if we stay in this room, there's no danger of that."

Handing the heavy Time-Turner to Severus, she gave him free reign to do as he pleased. The boy took it greedily and began turning the dial immediately, giving it many vigorous rotations. Right as he disappeared, another Severus ran to her from behind the desks.

"Tha' was amazing! I just watched us talk! Can I try it again?" he exclaimed breathlessly.

"No, I do believe once is quite enough."

Giving her an angry frown, he held the Time-Turner precariously on one of its support rods and insisted, "I want to try it again. I'll smash it if ye don't let me!"

"Why you devious little—" Hermione huffed angrily and summoned the Time-Turner with a flick of her wand. It flew to her with heavy momentum, and she caught it with a stumble from the force. The brown-haired witch immediately returned it to the case so no damages could occur; Severus could be dealt with shortly. It was so characteristic for him, even as child, to think only of himself.

"I just wanted—" he muttered, cheeks coloring with sheepish guilt. His guide shot him a poisonous look and allowed the cabinet to restore the Emerson to its place.

Feeling her own Time-Turner begin to tick, Hermione was suddenly overcome with panic. She had to return Severus to his house, and it was a long way out of the Ministry before they could Apparate.

"Not now," she whispered, exasperated, as she pulled out the tiny modernized version from her robes. Severus gingerly walked over with curiosity apparent in his black eyes.

"What's it doing?"

"Taking me back, but I've got to get you home before it does. It doesn't like to stop working once started."

"Why don't ye just put some water on it," he suggested simply, as if it were plainly obvious.

And it dawned on Hermione that it was not just obvious, but an elegant solution as well. Water didn't break the newer, sturdier models, but it did incapacitate them momentarily. Yes, it seemed the perfect answer, once and for all. She could add a chamber onto the bottom of the Time-Turner filled with water that releases once the jump was complete. A key inside the chamber could reverse the pressure upon turning to pull the water back out and activate the gears again. For now, something more crude would suffice.

"_Aguamenti_," she whispered, pointing at the glass outer rim of the Time-Turner.

Fluid filled the inner cavity, wrapping around metal gears which froze on contact.

"Severus, you're a genius." Hermione let out a breath of relief once she was sure she was not going to be slipping through the time stream. Her charge gave her a smug smirk and shoved his hands in his pockets. Not lingering for more congratulations, she grabbed Severus and pulled him toward the lift to take him home. There was no room for errors and leaving a ten year old boy in the middle of the Ministry was a terrible first impression.

Hermione delivered him home and reiterated her instructions for the list before vanishing the charmed water from her Time-Turner. She gave him a slight kiss on the cheek for goodbye and barely saw his surprised face when Spinner's End zapped out from view.

Everything fell into place with this last trip.

And now, all she had to do was devise a way to pull him from death's iron grip. That part seemed easy in her mind. What occupied her thoughts was what they would do after she'd retrieved him. Where would they go? How could she integrate him into the present? For a brief moment, Hermione contemplated writing a novel about it, but felt foolish once she deduced it was rather lowly and Rita Skeeter-like.

Ideas buzzed all around, snatching at her for attention. One thing she was sure was that they would not be staying in London. Perhaps one day, much later, they would return, but now out of the question. There would be too many questions and too many prying eyes, all shamelessly curious of her inappropriate use of Ministry materials. She just couldn't have that.

So, with a frantic mind and yearning heart, Hermione began to pack.

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	16. Only the Young

AN: Thanks to lilygirl101 for betaing. Visit **seinde[dot]tumblr[dot]com**, companion to the stories, for cut scenes and extras.

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**Chapter 15 - Only the Young**

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Roman sunlight was hot, clear, and far more energetic than the weak British beams Hermione had spent most of her life under. It was a welcome change though, a change that made her feel as though she were a cupboard-locked plant suddenly introduced to flooding natural light. The days were always long and bright, each filled with the same midday siesta that shut the entire city down for hours. That was the hardest part.

Ever-efficient Hermione could not fathom how people here made a living, sleeping their business hours away. The entire cheerful way of life was down right unnatural, straight down to the weather. But she never felt the need to protest. Rome was a strange place, swathed in a perpetual, dreamy haze where all things were comical. Time passed slower here; people lived on a different clock. It'd taken weeks, but Hermione was finally in the state of mind to run half an hour later than was said.

The utter lack of punctuality drove her insane initially, but this was why she'd chosen Rome to begin with. The city represented a different world with infinite forgiveness; it was an oasis where you could become anything and anyone. People did not need to amount to great heights in Rome to be content. The chain-smoking trainspotters and the vineyard owners were on level ground, just people living and passing the time.

Young people here were untamed and unashamed. Hermione listened to their laughter in the streets from up in her window every night. She came to understand their endless loitering eventually. They did not aspire to work for the Ministry or work at all. For the Italian youth, prospects were few and ambitions were fewer, but they could care less. All the better, Hermione thought with a twist of pretense. Here was an easy world into which they could integrate and exploit. And it was the last sort of place people expected of her; those who knew her well would guess that she hide herself in a place of order.

"Buon giorno!" A old man in breezy shorts greeted Hermione as he floated past her on a flying Persian rug. The wizard was walking his dog. Hermione returned an exaggerated nod and smile. She'd never been one to pick up languages well, being too analytical to spontaneously burst out with unsure words. It took her a good minute to think up a grammatically correct reply, and by that time, whoever was speaking had most likely walked away. The man's dog stopped by Hermione's feet and began to lick her toes.

"Oh!" she squeaked, unsure of how to respond.

"Tono!" the man reprimanded his dog with a string of incomprehensible Italian. Hermione had long since given up on the translator she purchased in London. Romans seemed to speak something else entirely.

"Tutto bene," Hermione assured as she nervously patted the dog on the head. It was honestly one of the few phrases she knew. Dragging the dog, the old gentleman apologized to Hermione profusely. She could not understand his words, but from his wild gestures, she thought that he was inviting her to ride his flying carpet with him. Dropping a polite "ciao", she retreated toward the cool air of her flat.

Today marked her second month in Rome.

All summer she'd languidly passed the time in the heat. She worked a job at a local clock shop and found that the menial labor of fixing watches was oddly satisfying. Every night, she thought more about her plan, of the perfect moment to jump back, but just couldn't overcome her anxiety. The steps were all carefully laid out, the words she would say well rehearsed. Yet she still failed to go. Hermione was afraid; she only had one shot.

But she was determine to grit her teeth and do it. Now as the time to act! If not now, she might put it off forever. First, Hermione spent her siesta cleaning the house. Every book was aligned in right angles appropriately for maximum visual order, and every surface cleaned for dust. Perfect was what she aimed for; nothing short of perfection could meet his eyes when he stepped into their new life.

Work was followed by a short dinner and more tedious preparation of her bag. She stuffed it full of healing potions and a small Flying Rug she'd bought in a store nearby. Magical carpets were banned in Britain, but who was going to object? It was the only sensible method of fast transport short of a broom in an Apparition-suppressed zone like Hogwarts.

Slinging a cloak around her robes, Hermione prepared for the chilly Scottish night. The witch pulled her curly hair back tightly so it would not fly in her face. Memories of yells and curses blazing through the air were coming back, following the heels of a churning nausea. Now or never.

Hermione tapped her wand on the Time-Turner which she had not touched for nearly two months and its paper map unfolded. Hogwarts, Forbidden Forest, she chose. Placing the chain around her neck, she took a steadying breath.

"Severus, I must save Severus."

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1998: Severus is 38.

The forest was filled with yells and pounding footsteps.

Human eyes adjusted slowly to things such as sudden loss of light, and Hermione was temporarily blind in the darkness. She stumbled on the black forest floor, groping for any source of support. Finally, she found a small tree and crouched down against its trunk to wait for her vision to return.

"Get the fuck out of the way!" She heard a gruff male voice shout close by and whispered a Disillusionment charm over herself. The air zapped with electricity as it covered her, and she prayed that it did not draw any attention. A string of heavy boots thudded past the tree, missing her by a hair. Suddenly the night became very real and very frightening, more so than it had been when she'd lived it the first time. Wizards were here to kill, a fact that her grown-up mind took far more seriously. They were not in battle for any ostentatious threats, and they meant death as surely as they meant their own existences.

Once the entourage of Dark wizards had past, Hermione crept out from the tree to orient herself. The castle was to her left, still standing completely intact. There were no curses being thrown just yet—the boundary had yet to be breached. This was good news, good news indeed: she'd come to the right time, and Severus was reasonably far from peril.

Hastily gathering up the ends of her robes, Hermione ran towards the Herbology greenhouse. Grass squished loudly under her boots as she raced toward the glass doors. Thankfully, her charm held out long enough for her to clear the grounds. Once at the gate, she snaked around the drainage ditch and crawled through a window. A vine nipped at her as she emerged in between pots, and she quickly hexed it away. Clutching her bag of supplies close to her chest, the Unspeakable dodged through rows of plants toward the door.

The halls were eerily quiet. Harry, Ron, and herself should be breaking into Ravenclaw Tower any minute now. Hermione dashed toward the Headmaster's office, cutting through the cold, silent air. There were no portraits on the walls now, no whispers and no stares. It pressed even more urgency into Hermione's already troubled mind. Once she was in front of the office, Hermione frantically patted the stone gargoyle, willing for it to open. She didn't know the password.

"Dumbledore. Ice mice. Chocolate frogs. Licorice beetles."

Nothing.

"Lemon drops. Candy. Sugar!" She racked her mind for possible sweets. But this wasn't Dumbledore's office, this was Severus, and Severus never ate sweets. What would he use?

"Serpents! Nightshade! Muffliato! Angelica!"

Still nothing. Upset at herself for this little oversight, Hermione pounded the stone with her palm and pleaded, "Severus! It's me! Let me in, it's Hermione! It's Madge!"

The stone suddenly began to grind and turn, yielding the narrow doorway. Glows firelight spilled forward, and a black figure stood before her with a wand pointed straight at her chest. His hand faltered when his eyes registered her face. Hermione stepped forward, equally shocked by the sight of him, standing so real in the light. He'd been absent from her life for many many weeks, and her heartsick loneliness flooded back in unbreakable wakes.

"Severus," she mumbled, for lack of better things to say.

The stone shut behind her, encasing them in the warmth of his office.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, voice cracking at the end.

"Get out." A command, not a request.

"But Severus..." Hermione stammered as she stepped forward, one hand out to reach for him. Instead of doing the same, Severus backed away and shook his head. For weeks he'd thought of her absence and prepared for the days ahead without her. This sudden breech of the rules was too much to cope.

"You aren't supposed to be here. This isn't on the list," he hissed softly.

Unable to stay away, Hermione rushed toward him, only to be held at arms length by his firm hands. "Forget the list. I—I've come to take you away, for good," she said lovingly, displaying her emotion to their fullest.

"Take me away?"

"Yes! To the future." Hermione tried to move forward into his arms but was again pushed back.

He swallowed hard, thoughts unreadable. "Go back. Leave."

"But I'm here to save you!"

A small dramatic part of him wanted to sweep her into his arms and go, but it was ridiculous and he knew it. If only she'd come sooner, before he'd made up his mind and set things in motion. Merely a year ago, he would have taken her offer without a second thought. So much had happened since then that bound him to his post permanently.

"Save me?" he sneered cruelly. "Is this some schoolgirl fantasy of yours? To save the bastard who is actually a quiet sensitive bloke underneath it all, and you've somehow managed to see into his witty, passionate, broken, pathetic inner self. Touching, Miss Granger, really. Save me. Shall I cry tears of gratitude?"

Severus shook his head at her as if she were a foolish student. The act disguised his unease and anger. He's all but prepared to go to his death, laid all the proper steps out for the events of the evening, and now this, an enticing bit of hope just when he'd made up his mind to die.

"Severus..." she pleaded.

The man's eyes were unyielding, cold from of his years of abject solitude and conviction. Countless candles and brass ornaments cast their light onto his sharp features. Hermione could see the harshness which had forced itself into his face since she last met him.

"No."

"It's simple, just come with me."

"It cannot be." He added as an afterthought, "Hermione."

All her prepared reasoning and speeches melted into indecipherable nonsense. She'd known it would take persuasion but not this much.

"No, it can! This was why it all happened! Everything fits together so perfectly; you're the one who's always saying it. I was meant to come to you and only you! I've already bought a place, a life, faraway for us. We can be free of this stupid war, all you need to do is come with me!"

Words rushed out of her mouth in her desperate attempt to convince him. There was such intense desire and longing that she could do nothing but seek more of his pain. How could he deny her this? How could he deny himself his life? And above all, how could he feel all that was relaying between them and still refuse? Hermione could only feel the blood racing through her veins. But it felt like someone else's heart pumping someone else's blood, and it told her to throw the chain around him and turn the key with no further words. But she knew she could not take him by force, and so she tried to reason.

"Please, Severus, we must go now. Voldemort will be defeated tonight. I've lived it. There is no reason for you to stay."

"I will not break my word to those who rely on it," he cut in sharply.

Hermione snorted, extremely irritated with his self-importance. "Rely on you? What have you got to do here? You're not that important, just leave your memories in a vial and send it to Harry Potter. He's in the castle, you know he is."

"Send my memories?"

"Merlin's sake, you know who I am. I'm positive that's all you need to do. No one ever said you had to be there when he looked at them."

"I should think not," he snarled, insulted by her belittlement. The wizard stomped over behind his desk and glanced out nervously at the dark grounds below. Hermione followed his gaze and saw black figures pouring across the grounds; Death Eaters had broken through the gates. Their moment of calm was approaching its finale.

"Severus, quit being a git and listen to what I'm saying? This will be the end of you, but it need not be!"

He closed his eyes and breathed out forcefully to clam his nerves—just when he'd thought things couldn't get any worse. "Stop," he interrupted her, level toned, "if there is anything that I have learned from in this life, it is that a man does not run from his word, or his fate."

"Then come with me. That is your fate! Don't you see it? The way we met, the circular nature of it all. We were meant to live more than one lifetime together. Come with me, we'll begin anew!"

Severus's heart strained at her words, and he was reminded of her insistence that a heart that hurts was a heart that works. How long he had longed to say those words to her, like music longing to be heard by sentient ears. He shook his head, his pale features stricken. "And what would I do then? Shall I take long walks on the beach with you, enjoy the glory of sun? You dream does not fit me. I was born into war, and I shall die in war. It is all that I have ever known, it is all that I have become."

"You are more than that," Hermione insisted. "You are more to _me_! We can be whatever we dream. It will all work out, you'll see."

"Maybe it seems that way now, but only the young believe such tripe."

"No, Severus, I'll always feel the same!" She shouted at him, desperate and angry. "I love you!"

The wizard smiled wistfully, his bottomless eyes shadowed, "I've—waited a long time for you."

"Then why—" she interjected, breathless with tears clouding her eyes.

"You are young, Hermione, love is something else to you. I have become old while you have stayed the same—we can't fulfill this fantasy of yours because I'm not that man you fell in love with. I have not been him for many years now. Bitterness and vows have carved up my soul. I'm afraid I've nothing left to give you."

"But I love you," she whispered, sounding crestfallen and defeated, as if repetition could make truth more apparent. Love, man's greatest source of strength that could triumph over all his follies. It was the material of dreams, and one need not be afraid of the dark if they had love.

But was it not enough?

"Stop," he hushed her. "Let me go, no, I must go tonight because it does not feel as if I have lost. You feel as though we are the very breath you ache for, because you have so much more to live; I have been only a small fraction of time to you, an exciting and fleeting affair, but I have already had you for an entire lifetime. Knowing that you are willing give, to love the beast that is my shadow, I have already lived all I that need. It is now time for me to keep my promises to those I've failed."

"No, no, NO! You've got it all wrong!"

"Headmaster! Potter's in Ravenclaw Tower!" the raspy voice of Amycus Carrow called from the fireplace.

Severus turned sharply and swept toward the door. He dared not pause or look at her, for fear his resolve would crumble. Not wanting to be left behind, Hermione chased after the black-haired man and pushed him away from the door with all of her weight.

He brushed her aside swiftly and said, "Do not argue with me; this is the truth. Let me make myself plain. You may deny it all you want, but I cannot make you happy. It would be a wrongful pursuit. Despair is the faithful sister of desire, and she will—come for us. I have lived it for twenty years, and I shall not subject you to her cruelty. I am giving you the mercy to leave while you are still in love. Go with your happiness, and keep my memory unsullied."

He reached for her hand and placed a curt kiss upon it. Hermione trembled from his touch and lunged to wrap her arms around him. Unshaken, he gently pushed her away once more. Her fingers curled desperately around his as a growing vine casts tendrils for support. It felt very much as though she would collapse without him.

"But my happiness," the words forced themselves out of her, unfiltered, "is giving my heart to you."

"I don't want it, Hermione. People become lost without their hearts."

"No—we've not had enough time." She bit her lips to keep her spastic breaths from escaping.

"It's not the end of the world, Mademoiselle. We all go, and it matters not when or with whom it happens. It'll always feel like we never had enough time." Severus slipped out of her fingers, and before she could react, he escaped to the steps of his outstretched door. She felt dizzy and nauseous at the thought of what he had just said.

"Farewell," he said softly before he stepped into the gargoyle columns. The wall twisted close, taking his black form away. Hermione could only watch the edge of his billowing robes vanish behind yellow stone. There's goodbye, and there's _goodbye_, and he'd used the tone to shut her out permanently. It was all wrong. She screamed in agony, the sound of anguish permeating the fabric of matter around her. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. The shock of her pain shook the very thread of time that carried her into the past. It was so strong that it woke Ron Weasley, eight years into the future, with a shudder.

Ron woke with cold clammy hands clutching his silver Time-Turner. Something was very wrong. He couldn't explain it, but he felt an urgent need to use it.

Without even getting dressed, he pointed on the map and turned the silver dial to reach his beloved Hermione.

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Footnotes:

1. People in Rome, especially the elderly, speak Romanesco, which is not quite Italian.

2. Some dialogue inspired by Trainspotting, a fabulous film.

3. And some fine fine words from Kazuo Ishiguro (_Never Let Me Go)_, Neil Gaiman, Regina Spektor, and the ladies of CLAMP.


	17. Libra

AN: The end, the end! An epilogue will be posted shortly to resolve the lack of closure you'll no doubt feel.

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**Chapter 16 - Libra**

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Severus swept angrily toward the Great Hall, where he knew much of the school was gathered. Wand at the ready, he prepared his nerves to hex anything that moved. These were the moments he lived for, blindly striding into stormy weather with only his own abilities with which to realize change. Think of the children, his inner voice drawled, the children.

But he didn't give them a second thought—he'd never come to care for any of them and had never felt any sympathy for their woeful lost childhoods. The only thing on Severus's mind was Hermione. He felt great freedom now that he'd managed to overcome his pathetic sentimentality and let her go. It was the harder choice, the right choice. Yet, in spite of feeling triumphant that his mind had won over his heart, he couldn't help but feel disappointment. He could not deny that he'd come to love her after all. And now she'd never know.

As the wizard drew closer to the frantic whispers and occasional shouts echoing down the halls, he pulled toward the wall and crept with silent steps. But his silent steps were not stealthy enough and Minerva McGonagall's cat-like sense of hearing caught him as he slipped behind a suit of armor.

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Hermione sat in the Headmaster's Office and cried for a good few minutes before she felt anger and determination bubble up from deep inside. The more she thought about it, the more obvious it became: Severus was simply too foolish to understand. Picking up her robe edges, she dashed through the castle after him. There was no question about it, she would make him understand.

Dashing out of the office, Hermione could barely see where her feet were landing as they stumbled down little steps. Just outside of the gargoyles, she stopped cold as a Death Eater in expertly tailored black robes trained his wand on her. The wizard began to chuckle, a low and sandy sound, as he leaned down and stared into her eyes. Instinctively, Hermione looked away from the silvery blue orbs glowing out from behind his mask.

"Well, this is certainly a pleasant surprise," the man drawled as he removed his mask to reveal his face. "Miss Sanders, is it? Let me begin with saying that it's remarkable how you never age."

"I've got nothing to say to you," Hermione said stiffly. She flickered her wand up to defend, but he was much faster and slammed her wrist against the wall, immobilizing her hand.

Ellsworth Selwyn smirked coyly as he stood back to his full height. "That's no way to greet an old acquaintance now. This is such a marvelous meeting. I believe you have something I desire." He ran the sharp, gilded tip of his birch wand down Hermione's collar bone toward the Time-Turner chain. The chain resonated a clear high-pitched tone when metal met metal, as if repelling.

"Fascinating," the wizard muttered as he bent down to inspect the vibrating chain. Hermione struggled against his iron hand to no avail.

She craned her head forward and muttered, "I'll tell you how it works."

Selwyn's eyes darted to her face suspiciously, but his curiosity got the better of him and he leaned his ear up to the hear better. Pleased that he'd taken the bait, Hermione brushed her lips against his ear and whispered, "It must not touch water. You see, the Time-Turner is—" When the wizard was fully attentive, she bit down on his ear.

The wound was so painful that the man reflexively released her hand. Hermione immediately shot a curse at his feet and ducked out from under his hold.

"You worthless little bitch!" he screamed, fallen over and clutching his bleeding ear.

"_Reducto!_"

Echoing footsteps told her that he had recovered and was after her. The wall behind Hermione blasted into a fine mist of dust and she darted to an outer corridor. Hermione ran blindly down the hall, shattering glass following her every step. The windows burst into crystal ringing, narrowly missing the edge of her being.

"Don't think you'll get away!" her pursuer cried as hexes shot out from his wand.

Skipping over fallen rocks and crumbling steps, she stumbled through the rubble. Many turns and stairs later, Hermione found herself suddenly trapped by a dead end. The castle was not quite the same as she'd remembered. To her left, were a corridor was supposed to be, stood a huge stone statue of a fat wizard with a large mustache. She patted the wall behind it, hoping it was only an illusion.

"Come on now, Mudblood, you know there's no way out," Selwyn taunted as he took cautious steps forward. He looked livid, fresh blood running down the side of his handsome face. The tap of his boots was suddenly interrupted.

"Leave her be, Ellsworth. There are more important things now."

Severus emerged from behind the corner. Breathing a sigh of relief, Hermione cowered against the crumbling wall. Severus strode up to Selwyn and placed a hand on the other wizard's wand to lower it. His eyes were dangerous and icy. It seemed she was reprieved.

"This isn't about you, Severus," the sandy-haired man spat.

"Let her be, she's of no consequence," Severus repeated, deliberate and low.

Selwyn wrenched his wand out from under Severus's grip. "You know very well what she has. If not for our Lord, at least for ourselves! I'm disappointed in you, Snape, allowing yourself to be strung along by a Mudblood like some fool. But then again, you're not much _better_, are you?"

The accusation cause an involuntary twitch of Severus's eye, giving away his bitterness toward the subject. Moving himself between them until he was close to Hermione, the Headmaster tried to diffuse the possibility of violence. "Let's be reasonable."

"Reasonable? Let go of this golden opportunity?" Selwyn laughed, devilish and malicious. "Step aside, Severus."

"Don't do this."

"I don't owe you anything, Snape."

Selwyn raised his wand high in the air. Both Severus and Hermione moved to defend against his oncoming hex. Only when the spell was spoken did they realize they'd fatally misunderstood the Dark Wizard's intentions.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

Hermione saw the shock of green as it lit forth as she stared straight into the face of death. It was too late to move; the curse was not a jet, but an all-encompassing projection, satisfied by blood only. Time dilated as the light enveloped the space between them in waves. For a single moment, she found her breath taken away by the order of the green spiraling light; death was organic and beautiful, it seemed.

Without warning, Hermione was thrown back, shielded by a very solid body. Severus threw himself between her and the flying curse. There was a voice in her head as she stared into his glassy eyes, as the depth in them flickered out. The edge of time and reality seemed to fuse, wavering out into more dimensions, when he fell forward. She couldn't make out what he was saying, but his voice was gentle, wrapping her mind in a loving embrace.

And after these hushed whispers, the thought was indisputably gone. Hermione watched in horror as he crumpled to the ground, lifeless and still. Her heart strained as if it were falling deep into the earth. Hermione collapsed over him, hands running down his face, trying to shake him awake.

"It can't be..."

Frantic and desperate, she tried to pull him up from the ground to no avail. They say that consciousness weighs exactly twenty-one grams, but it couldn't be true, for death made him seemed to suddenly be infinite tons.

"Well, this is regrettable. I'd rather liked the clever bastard." Selwyn noted snidely as he kicked the body; his wand pressed against Hermione's neck. The sharp point dug into her skin. "Now, the Time-Turner."

"He was your friend," she replied through gritted teeth. "How could you?"

"I suppose you'd like to join him then," the Death Eater laughed, hollow and emotionless. Severus had meant little to him—merely a space occupant that occasionally made snide comments when he sought company. It would have been a lie to say that Selwyn considered him worthy of friendship, for Ellsworth was the type of man that took pleasuring in aiding his "friend" in difficult endeavors if only to belittle the effort with his own unspoken ease.

"I'll break it before I let you have it!" Hermione screamed as she clutched the fallen corpse, willing him to rise and tell her it had all been a terrible nightmare.

Birch and metal pointed directly at her, Selwyn narrowed his eyes in a smirk and prepared to cast another killing spell. But right as the words were on the tip of his tongue, the fallen Severus flickered and suddenly vanished. Hermione gasped as her arms fell on empty air. Surprise clouded the Death Eater's silvery eyes, his guard falling momentarily. "A Doppelganger," he muttered, astonished.

"_Stupefy!_" Hermione shouted.

Selwyn fell forward, immobilized. A jarring crack sounded as his head fell square onto the edge of a rock. Not hesitating over the fallen man, Hermione stumbled to her feet and ran for the gates. She was in shock of what had happened, and the only thing she could think was that she'd failed, and he was dead, having given himself to spare her. Gone, forever lost.

It was laughable to have thought she could have saved him, she reflected bitterly. Yet, was he? People don't just vanish—but there were simple answers such as a Portkey.

And Harry, what of Harry now? How was he to see the memories he needed to continue?

Everything was spoiled!

All because of her silly sentimentality. Severus had always told her it was a weakness to allow her feelings to cloud her judgment, and now it cost her his very life. Anger, guilt, and sorrow raced through her mind in circles, causing Hermione to struggle in her steps.

She knew she must fix this, before things became irreparable. Memories, they were the key, but how to retrieve memories she'd only heard and not seen? Gripping the last pillar on the outer hall, Hermione glanced out into the frenzy of fluorescent lights flashing in the fields. There were people dying in vain outside because of her.

Just as her fear threatened to overtake her completely, Hermione had an epiphany. If not his memories, hers would suffice. She had numerous occasions of him speaking about Lily, professing his devotion to her. Hermione had all his secrets already and could give them to Harry. She could undo what she'd broken.

Conjuring up a vial, she ducked behind a statue and pulled out individual strands of her thoughts. The images of him swam before her eyes as they left her mind. A young Severus insisting on taking her to see his best friend Lily, an angst filled teenager moaning his woes, a young man tortured by loss, a cynical professor crushed by the irony of how the boy-who-lived was in actually the boy-who-must-die. Hermione concentrated on pulling together the perfect set of memories that would convince Harry of the man she loved and the truth he had tried to fulfill. Each memory stung as they flowed from her temple, as if they had integrated themselves into her very being and could not stand to be ripped out.

At some point, she'd begun to cry again.

Hermione wasn't sure when or why it happened, but the tears simply rushed from her eyes with every memory. But this feeling of giving, of sacrifice, seemed pale in comparison to her despair.

When she was done, she wiped her swollen eyes on a dirty sleeve and ventured out into the open air toward the Womping Willow. She remembered running with Harry under the cloak into the damp little tunnel as clear as if it had happened yesterday—terrified and thoughtless. The darkness was obscuring as she ducked behind a mound. It was not long before she heard the chatter of Ron arguing with her younger self.

"Are you a wizard or what?" she heard herself shriek to Ron.

It was now or never. At that moment, she brought up the image of Severus lying on Penton Hook Island with her. It was crystal clear, Hermione lost herself into his bottomless eyes, entranced by the way she saw no reflection, no light, nothing but him in the darkness.

"_Expecto Patronum_," she whispered, letting the trembling of her heart overtake her veins and flow through her arm into her wand. A silvery bird sprang from the bursting light and stared at her with those same shadowed eyes. Hermione reached forward and bound her vial of memories around the bird's outstretched feet in ribbons of phantom magic.

"Harry Potter, Professor Dumbledore has instructed me to give you this."

The crow flew high into the sky and glided toward the willow. Hermione closed her eyes and hoped that Harry would trust in her Patronus. She did not remain to watch them enter the tunnel.

If she had, she would have known that Harry Potter, in all his carelessness, dropped the vial on the way in, and Ron accidentally stepped on the glass behind him. The memories fell into the dirt of the passage uselessly, silvery blue gliding into the ground, seeping like sand.

.

.

Deep in the forest, waiting for further orders, Severus felt a sudden jolt of pain to his temples. Doubling forward from the sudden assault, the wizard clutched his head. A disorienting flood of images and thoughts entered his mind, of Hermione, of Selwyn, of—the blackening of thought and emotion. The latter would have to be dealt with at another time.

Bent over the dusty forest floor, he struggled to understand what had just happened. He seemed to have lived the evening once already and suddenly remembered. If the knowledge of it were not so vivid and felt so true, he would have written it off immediately. Paranoid that a curse was the source, Severus wildly pointed his wand in all directions, eliciting fearful grumbles and protests from the men around him.

With the death of the double, time sealed the wound Ron Weasley had created. But time still obeyed the rules of the universe and matter of all sorts, including thought, was never distilled from or dissipated into nothing. Severus was keenly aware of the fact that he had died. He didn't know why such a strange thing had happened, but like a traumatic memory returned, he was sure it had been very real.

He had died for her.

Raising himself up and standing tall once more, he pushed his way through the scattered Death Eaters. He cared less that he had given himself and more that she was still here and very much in danger.

"Severus!" a hoarse voice called out from the dark trees.

Raising his wand instinctively, Severus cautiously looked to his left. A haggard Lucius Malfoy stumbled into his view, panting from a hasty journey. Distraught and disheveled, Lucius turned his gaunt eyes on Severus and said in a strained manner, "He requires you, Severus. The Dark Lord, he requires you, in that shack in Hogsmeade."

Severus condensed his flurry of thoughts and replied coldly, "Then I shall be on my way."

Lucius's eyes twitched, an unintentional betrayal of his fear.

"Is there something I should know, Lucius?"

"No, no! You best not keep him waiting," the other wizard insisted.

Sweeping away in a single smooth movement, Severus left the shaking Malfoy behind. There was a nag in the back of his mind that something was amiss; this was the moment where it all collided. He'd loved, he'd lost, he'd forced her away, and there was only a single task left. Everything was all for now. But for what? Justice? Revenge? Atonement?

Wand aimed at the sky, he let himself be pulled upward in full flight.

.

.

Hermione apparated to the edge of Hogsmeade and ran toward the Shrieking Shack. Voldemort would be waiting for Severus there and needed to be lured out so Harry did not come face to face with him before there was a chance to see her memories. She ran toward the little leaning shack as fast as her legs could take her. Hogsmeade was eerily quiet, as if the collective village was huddled in a corner shivering from fright.

A street lamp flickered to her right, causing Hermione to glance upward. When her gaze was on the sky, a dark cloud of hurling tendrils was flying over her: a Death Eater. Hermione ran away from the light to hide behind a building, but it was too late. The black billowing figure twisted toward her and descended.

Panicked, Hermione stumbled in her step and lost her balance. Fully expecting to crash into the ground, she was shocked to find that the black smoke had enveloped her and a pair of strong arms kept her upright.

"Don't scream, Hermione," a soft low voice whispered in her ear.

The sound was smooth and instantly recognized. Hermione gasped and spun around to see Severus standing behind her, very much alive.

"This can't be." Her voice trembled.

"Because I died?"

Hermione shook her head, overwhelmed by the irrationality of it all. It had to be an illusion.

"You're not real. Who are you?" She raised her wand. Suspicion crossed her lips like a dark and breathless sentiment.

"If I had an iris—f" Hermione's eyes widened. "I gave myself once for you, and I'd do it again a million times over," he whispered, "I couldn't bring myself to admit to you before, and it seems that we've been divined the chance again."

"Severus?"

The disbelief of his miraculous presence was choking.

"Hermione, you must understand, I meant everything I said, and I still do. I've been in both yearning and terrible regret these past few hours, even as I fell under the curse. I had the knowledge of such congealing truth, but not the courage to express it."

"How can this be?" She wavered, half speaking to herself.

Severus ignored her shock and continued, "I love you, Hermione, I always have."

"Then come with me. I don't care what has happened, we can figure it out later. I just need you to come." she pleaded one last time, hand pressed against her robes to feel for the Time-Turner.

"I can't."

"You'll die in there," she blurted out in one last attempt.

Severus seemed mildly surprised at her confession. "Then you know there is work to be done still."

With that, he brushed his lips against hers. Unable to think of anything but him, Hermione kissed back. The kiss deepened between them, and Hermione felt her body tighten in an unnatural chill. Her bones cemented themselves at the joints; her muscles knitted into one unmoving mass. The ice metastasized until all but her mind froze.

He'd placed a binding curse on her.

Severus swept the petrified Hermione into his arms and set her down in the dark alley between two buildings where she would not be found. He bent down and traced his hand around the back of her neck for a gold chain. When he felt its sandy length, he tugged on it, intending to reset the Time-Turner and send her back. However, it seemed that the little contraption was fully trapped by her arm, which was stiffly frozen across her stomach.

Smirking at the divine comedy, Severus stopped and placed a kiss again Hermione's forehead. His spell would have to hold her until he finished his tasks.

"Apologies, beloved."

And he was suddenly gone.

Hermione blinked back tears as she sat frozen in the alley. She willed her fingers to move but they simply would not. Her wand felt warm in her hands, and she concentrated hard on motion but only felt cold wrenching reality. After an eternity of trying, Hermione felt a tingle in her fingers as the spell began to fade against her struggles. The cold, binding magic was like a leaf eaten away by caterpillars, only the stiffness inside bones with ghostly connective tracery spanning into flesh. When her right hand was able to move, she cast the counter curse and felt herself shaking free.

Without a thought, she ran towards the Shrieking Shack. The gleaming purple of before-dawn sky lit with scattered stars. Hermione drew strength from its beauty as she rushed toward her love. Nothing could make her give up. She'd rather die trying than leave him. Soon, the ragged shack was only paces away.

Hermione wasn't sure what she would do once she reached it, but she knew she must try.

A crack of Apparation suddenly resounded behind her and what happened next was a blurry streak in her memory. Orange hair and striped pajamas encased her vision, held her down against the cobblestones. They tumbled downward into the stone, him holding her firmly from behind as she struggled to crawl toward the Shrieking Shack.

"No!" she screamed, fighting with all of her waning strength.

"Hermione, stop struggling!" Ron shouted, gruff and out of breath.

"NO!"

She felt helpless as a silvery wire flew over her head and the world swam. Sound, sight, and feeling all rolled into the same crushing wave and suddenly they fell onto the floor of Ron's flat. Worn clothes laid where cobblestones once were, pale lit light where dark smoky sky used to be. A stinging force snapped against her neck and her Time-Turner laid in a bowl of water along with a silver twin, both completely useless. It was done and could not be undone.

"No," she sobbed, "you've killed him."

"Hermione, get a hold of yourself! You've gone completely mental!" Ron raised his voice in an attempt to shove sense into her.

"You've ruined everything, you fucking wanker!" she shrieked, sending fists and punches at Ron. "How, why did you? You just can't bloody leave me alone for once? It's none of your business!"

"Hermione, shut up!" He reacted forcefully. The tall man held her at arms' length, careful to duck her angry swings. She should be thanking him, he noted bitterly. "What were you going to do? Drag old Snape back here and have him be jolly friends with us?"

Hermione slapped him, loud smack resounding in the room. "You don't know what you've done, Ron. How did you find me? How do you know?"

"Blimey, Hermione," Ron moaned as he held his stinging cheek. "You left your fucking diary. Snape, really, Snape! He's got to have put a spell on you, I had to do something! Fawcett made me a Time-Turner, and I got you, like any sensible friend would."

"You take that back!" Hermione threatened with her wand. "He'd never curse me. Take me to the Ministry or I'll hex you."

"You're being crazy. I had Sanders seal the Department of Mysteries against you. You can't fix these Time-Turners, they're not yours; they're Ministry property."

"Ron Weasley," she warned dangerously, eerily reminiscent of Severus.

Unfazed by her threats, Ron lashed out. "No, you listen, Hermione. It isn't right! It isn't fair, but we've all got somebody we wish we could save. People die for a reason, and you can't save them. Not with a Time-Turner or Unicorn blood or a Philosopher's Stone! You know what happens to things that exist unnaturally—they waste away and take you with them."

"This is different." Her eyes gleamed harshly.

Ron shook his head at her in disgust. "How is it different? How is Snape any different than Fred? Or Remus? Or Tonks? Why don't you go save them? Are they worth any less?"

"That's not what I said—"

"But it's what you mean, Hermione. You'd save him, but only him."

"No—"

"Yeah, keep kidding yourself."

Hermione's lip quivered as she felt her arm fall to her side. A rush of blood saturated her chest, and she clutched it against involuntary pain. She didn't want to admit it, but Ron was right. He'd seen right through her selfish haze. Who was she to choose life for Severus and not Fred? Furrowed worry met Ron's clear blue eyes, and Hermione felt her own eyes watering.

"It isn't true—" she trailed off weakly.

Ron glared at her.

"I hate you," she whispered through her broken breaths.

The tall man patted her lightly on the back, as if to feign sympathy. Hermione's arms hung limply at her side for she had no desires to speak, think, or move.

"You'll see that I'm right, Hermione. It's for the best."

"I'm sorry," she breathed, meaning it for someone else entirely.

She closed her eyes and pretended that it was not Ron who stood before her, but nothing could veil the reality that universal order had finally trumped her individual will. It felt of someone cutting her again and again despite anguished protests. There were some things you just couldn't win a fight against.

.

* * *

Footnotes.

1. The soul weighs 21 grams, as claimed by Dr. Duncan MacDougall who would weigh people as they died.

2. It's been a really long journey for me to write this, and the end was most difficult, so thank you for reading and following. I regret to inform that Snape was never going to make it. I decided it before I started writing and stayed true to my plans. Sorry to disappoint if you were hoping otherwise.


	18. Epilogue

A/N: Thank you, thank you, for all your love and support. I dropped a hint about this back in chapter 8; applause to your careful reading if you caught it. Be sure to venture over to my fic-blog for my final thoughts: (seinde . tumblr . com) and to discuss yours.

* * *

**Epilogue**

.

.

Flourish and Botts was unbearably crowded, wizards and witches practically bursting out of its tiny windows. The bookshelves and walls were bending awkwardly in an uncomfortable curve, trying to accommodate all of its precious customers. Hermione squeezed her way to the new publication section, nearly knocking the spectacles from a bewildered old man's face in the process.

Arms held protectively around her purse, she fought to get to the new releases. All the pushing and shoving was quite difficult as the crowd grew denser toward the back. To her disappointment, none of the shiny new books looked particularly interesting. Not interesting enough to gift anyway—the new Rita Skeeter book inevitably peaked her curiosity and annoyance, but that was another matter entirely. Weaving her way out of the bookstore, Hermione wracked her mind for options.

Leaving the Wizarding alley behind, she stepped into the snow filled Muggle street. The middle aged witch pulled her cloak close, careful to keep her wand hidden. It was just the beginning of January. She only had until that night to procure a book, but had yet to find a suitable one. Across the street, a small Muggle bookstore caught her eye. There was an odd sparkle about it.

The basement shop had dingy framing and cardboard window signs, but there was an inexplicable honesty about the place, as if it was a word of unapologetic truth in the industrial machine surrounding it.

Would he be offended if he received a distinctly Muggle book? She worried that he would, but then again, she'd seen his collection of gifts from her, and there were definitely a fair number of Muggle texts.

Once inside the cozy little store, she knew she had made the right choice. There was a huge handwritten sign by the door with "Anniversary Edition of Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse-Five". This would no doubt amuse him for his 25th birthday. Hermione giggled at the appropriateness and grabbed a copy on the way toward the register. With no currency, she quickly transfigured her Wizarding coins into Muggle ones. It would revert back, yes, but it was still gold, she reasoned; everyone was entitled some laziness.

The girl working the registered looked at her clothing oddly, but refrained from commenting. There were many people dressed in this style around the area, long capes and hoods, perhaps it was a new vogue. The young girl chewed her gum and gave Hermione some change which she refused to accept. What a strange woman, the cashier thought.

.

.

Hermione sat with her book and Time-Turner waiting for midnight alone.

It'd been many years since she'd let him go. She'd never managed to quite forgive Ron or go back to the Ministry. Order would never be something she equated with justice. Her life was hers to live, and she made peace with the fact that the most she could do was make his a little better. But she still missed him and still felt an ache for what was and disappointment for what could have been. To ease her heart, she started a tradition.

Every January eighth she allowed herself the indulgence of using an unregistered Time-Turner to go to him at midnight, bearing a birthday gift. Whatever book caught her eye or reminded her of a phrase he had said, she purchased and found a birthday to gift. Her first was "The Little Prince", given when he was ten. She never stayed and never allowed herself to be seen. It was her way of saying goodbye slowly, keeping the balance between them. He had loved her a lifetime while holding his silence, and it was only right that she should do the same.

The clock hour hand inched at a irritatingly slow pace.

Impatient, she twisted the dial to 1985 prematurely and forced her mind to reach for Severus, thinking of him in every detail possible. Hermione let her will and longing take the wheel, believing in them more than her rationales. Heart over mind, she wordlessly let him be her Polaris.

Her living room carpet vanish, replaced by the dark heather rug in his little house on Spinner's End. Hermione was seated in an armchair facing the dimly lit fireplace. Dying embers snapped as they dissolved slowly into the darkness. Putting a hand on the armrest, the witch heaved herself up from the chair and walked to the stairs. She stepped slowly, each rise of wooden step a mystery to be felt and not seen.

In the bedroom, she could see his slumbering form in bed. He twitched every now and then—an uneasy sleep. She walked to the bedside, navigating by streams of moonlight, and placed the book on the space beside his pillow. Just as she let go, he rolled over, arms out stretched over the covers as if to reach for someone.

It took every fiber of her being to fight the overwhelming desire to stay.

Faint midnight light flickered as an owl flew by the window. Hermione leaned down and placed a kiss on his brow, whispering her love. When she pulled away, she was surprised to so see he had woken. Half dreaming and still drowsy, he blinked at her, not comprehending.

"Madge?" he murmured, reaching for his wand.

"Shh, go back to sleep, Severus," she said softly and took his wandering hand in hers. The contact was familiar and bittersweet.

His black eyes wandered from her nightgown to her now-short hair, and he stirred, trying to raise his head. "Your—"

"—dreaming, darling. You're dreaming."

She stroked his hair, fingertips brushing his face gently. Giving him a small smile, she traced his eyebrow. The motion forced Severus to involuntarily close his dark, sleep-glazed eyes. Raising her wand, she whispered, "_Oblivate_."

He did not open his eyes again.

Turning the key half of her Time-Turner, Hermione did not permit herself a last glance, knowing she could never leave if she looked; she was at once both Orpheus and Eurydice, trying to walk out of Hades.

When Severus awoke in the morning, he picked up the book and opened the first page with an amused smirk. Hopefully, this one would be a better read than her last gift of Neitzsche. She was always so sentimental. In small, neat writing, was the message:

_Severus,_

_May everything be beautiful, and may nothing hurt. Happy 25th birthday._

_Much love,_

_M_

He held the pages up to his hooked nose and tried to catch her lingering scent, but all he could smell was the ghost of acid and ash from the printing press.

Many years had passed since he last attempted to catch her in the act. As a boy, he used to secretly stay up the whole night, waiting for her to appear. She never once did. The books simply sprung into being at some crucial moment when he was feeling drowsy. Yet last night, he felt as though he had seen her, but could not recall what she looked like, nor the circumstance through which she graced him with her presence. The only detail he could draw up was the warmth of her touch. Unconsciously, he traced the path of her fingers on his brow. It was rather like an elusive and faceless dream.

But it mattered little to Severus.

He knew they would meet again.

That was just the way things were. There was tragedy, there was poison, there was serenity. Every day brought about its share of uncertainty and doubt, but he faithfully bore through it knowing there was at least one thing in his life that never failed to be true.

He loved her and would see her once more.

_._

_.  
_

_FIN_


End file.
